Theater of War: Act Two, Scene Two
by TOW
Summary: Conclusion of Act Two - "The Play's the Thing"
1. Chapter 1

Act Two

Scene Two

– One –

The black car stopped on the road to Hammelburg; Newkirk and LeBeau got out.

Hogan leaned out of the window. "Sure you remember how to get to the cabin?" The two men nodded. "Okay. Get to the underground and bring a doctor back with you. Be as quick as you can."

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau answered.

The two men stepped back as the car drove off into the darkness.

...

LeBeau knocked quietly on the hotel door as Newkirk kept watch in the hallway. Finally, a man in a dressing gown answered the knock. Surprise was reflected on both of their faces.

The man recovered first. "What are you doing here?" he whispered urgently.

"Please, may we come in?" LeBeau answered softly.

"Of course." The man stepped aside and let the two in.

...

The overcast day was just dawning when the car stopped at a small, nondescript cabin hidden deep in the woods. Newkirk, LeBeau and the man with them got out of the car and went to the door. Carter opened the door for them.

"Colonel Hogan," greeted Hauptmann Doktor Dieter Müller. "Meine Herren." Then he spotted, "Sergeant Schultz!" Sudden realization on his face. "Oh mein Gott! Wilhelm!"

"You didn't tell him," Hogan said to Newkirk.

Newkirk shook his head.

"This way," Hogan said.

Hogan went to the door in the left wall and opened it. He crossed the room to the night table and turned up the lamp to light the shuttered room. Müller gasped as he saw the man on the bed.

"The Gestapo had him for over sixty hours," Hogan said quietly.

Müller nodded grimly as he walked over to the bed. He placed his medical bag on the nightstand and removed his topcoat and cap.

"Do you need anything?" Hogan asked. "Or any help?"

Müller shook his head, dropping his coat and cap on the chair. He bent over the unmoving man. "Not yet. How long has he been unconscious?"

"Nearly four hours," Hogan answered shakily. "They were torturing him and he was screaming . . . " Hogan shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory.

"I will call if I need help," Müller said.

Hogan nodded and turned away. Then . . . "Doctor," he began hesitantly.

Müller straightened up and looked at him soberly. "I do not know, 

Colonel. Not yet."

Hogan nodded and closed the door softly behind him.

Dieter Müller turned back to the man on the bed. Klink's filthy clothing had been removed. He was covered with a blanket, a sheet wrapped around his loins. Schultz had cleaned off most of the dirt, but nothing would remove the ugly yellowish-purple bruises that splotched Klink's body.

Choking down a sob, Müller went to work as dispassionately as he could.

...

The still man's eyes slowly opened.

Müller bent over him. "Wilhelm," he said quietly.

Surprise flickered in the glazed eyes of the man staring up at him.

"Do not try to speak. But I have some questions for you," Müller said. "I need to know if there is any internal damage. Tell me if it hurts when I press so."

Müller's hands gently but firmly moved over Klink's body. The man on the bed nodded "yes" or "no" as the hands moved.

Müller finally straightened up. "I do not believe there is any internal damage. There are places where the muscles are quite bruised; they will be very sore for some time. In time, the discoloration will fade." He picked up a syringe. "This is a sedative; it will help you sleep. Right now, sleep is what you need the most." Müller injected his brother-in-law with a gentle hand. "I will be back later on."

Klink nodded and his eyes closed. As Müller watched, he fell asleep.

No longer the dispassionate doctor, tears began to slide down Dieter Müller's face.

...

Dieter Müller, his eyes suspiciously red, came out of the small bedroom.

Hogan watched him closely, half afraid of what he would say.

Müller managed a small smile that relaxed them all. "Nothing is broken and there appears to be no internal damage. In time, the bruises will fade. Only the right wrist might prove difficult; the flesh is mangled and infected. I have bandaged it, but the bandages will need to be changed every three hours."

"I can do that, Herr Doktor," Schultz said.

Müller nodded. "I have given him a sedative to help him sleep; sleep is what he needs the most. If he awakens, give him liquids but no stimulants. A light broth would be best."

"I will make him the best chicken soup he ever had," LeBeau swore.

Even Müller smiled. "My grandmother would approve." He slipped on his coat. "I wish I could stay but I have other duties that I must perform," Müller said. "I will be back later tonight. Let him rest, but keep an eye on him as well. Do not be surprised if he slips in and out of sleep. Try not to talk to him, let him heal." He reached into his bag and gave a tube of ointment to Schultz. "Use this when you change the bandages."

Schultz took the tube. "Jawohl, mein Herr."

"Thanks for coming, Doctor," Hogan said.

Müller stared at him in surprise. "It is I who should thank you, Colonel Hogan," Müller said in a shaking voice. "You have returned to me a man I care for deeply. It is a debt I cannot hope to ever repay."

"Don't!" Hogan said harshly. "You owe me nothing; neither does he." A deep breath. "He's taught me a lesson I needed to learn." He looked at Müller. "Do you understand?"

Müller nodded soberly. "Yes, I do. It is the same lesson he taught me many years ago. I nearly forgot it when I was last here. I will never forget it again." He picked up his bag. "I will see you later."

"Carter, go with him to the gate," Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Carter slipped on his coat and went out with Müller.


	2. Chapter 2

Act Two

Scene Two

– Two –

The day went slowly. Outside, the temperature was bitterly cold, the sky overcast. Inside, the mood was scarcely more comfortable. None of them could forget the horrors they had witnessed. LeBeau's cooking did warm things up a bit. Following the doctor's orders, LeBeau set about making a delicious soup. Soon, pleasant smells invaded the small cabin. Smells that helped them forget the stench of the cell as all the men took turns watching the sleeping man.

...

Every few hours, Sergeant Hans Schultz went into the quiet room and changed the bandages around Klink's wrist. Klink rarely stirred when he did so. After he finished changing the bandage, Schultz sat for a few moments, watching his sleeping Kommandant. His eyes strayed to the bruises on Klink's body, the fatigue lining the sleeping face. And he shuddered, remembering the scream he had interrupted. And he remembered the rage and the hate he'd felt when he walked into that cell and saw what was being done to Klink. And saw Hochstetter with that smile on his face as he tortured Klink.

Up until that moment, Schultz had never killed anyone. A batman during the first war, he was fortunate enough to be spared that horror. He would have said he was incapable of killing anyone. Now he knew better.

And he was both ashamed of his deed and equally certain that he had no choice. If he had not shot Hochstetter, they might all have been caught. Worse, his friend would have continued to suffer. So Schultz had shot Hochstetter without thinking.

Perhaps that's what frightened him the most. That he had done it without thought. A life, no matter how despicable a life, had been taken.

Schultz sighed heavily. Now he knew how others killed so senselessly. But perhaps now that he knew, he could better guard against it.

His eyes strayed back to the sleeping man. _HE_ would understand Schultz's dilemma. In the rare moments when Schultz could get Klink to talk, Klink had revealed his abhorrence of killing. And it showed in the missions he undertook. Rarely would any of the Stage's missions end in a death. Much as he abhorred the conditions in his country, Klink knew that most people were pawns used by Hitler and the madmen surrounding him. And that most people were too afraid to do anything but obey those madmen. But Klink also knew all too well that men like Hochstetter existed. And even them, he was reluctant to kill. However, sometimes, as Schultz found out, people did die. And the man who was the Stage suffered.

As did Schultz.

Another sigh. At least, Klink was free and alive. Schultz prayed that they would leave. Quickly.

The question was, would they?

...

Corporal Peter Newkirk entered the darkened bedroom and went to the chair beside the bed. He looked down at the sleeping man; Klink's forehead was wet. Newkirk picked up the towel on the nightstand and carefully wiped Klink's brow. As he did, Klink's eyes slowly opened.

For a moment, Newkirk moved uneasily under the questioning gaze. Then he asked, "Would you like some water, sir?"

Newkirk didn't wait for a reply. He poured water into a glass and offered it to the man on the bed. He had to raise Klink's head up a bit so the Kommandant could take a sip. After a couple of swallows, Klink shook his head.

Newkirk carefully lowered Klink's head back down to the pillow and placed the glass back on the nightstand. Then he looked at Klink. Klink's eyes slowly closed and his breathing soon settled into an even pattern. And Newkirk sat down on the chair beside the bed, his eyes staying on Klink.

Klink — the Stage.

Newkirk still couldn't quite believe everything that had happened. When Hogan had come up with his incredible idea about Klink being the Stage, Newkirk had been sure that Hogan had flipped. Even when Schultz had confirmed it, Newkirk was still tempted to say they were both nuts.

Then they had come to this cabin, and he saw the books, the radio, everything. And Newkirk had been forced to admit that this did belong to the Stage. But part of him still couldn't believe it was the Klink he knew. Until he walked into the cell and saw the man who was chained to that thing.

Newkirk shuddered as he remembered his horror at Klink's appearance, his revulsion at what had been done to Klink. And he remembered his own terror when Hochstetter looked at them, wanting to put them on that contraption. Newkirk had been certain that he would be first.

For years, they had all kidded about being interrogated by the Gestapo. And he had shrugged it off. He'd been caught a few times by the Gestapo or SS during their unauthorized excursions outside the camp. But nothing had ever happened to him. And none of it had ever seemed completely real to him. Until the moment when Hochstetter's eyes had flitted over him in that cell.

Then he knew what real fear felt like, tasted like. He'd thought he had felt it before on their trips outside the camp. But it was nothing compared to what he'd felt at that moment.

Newkirk's eyes strayed back to Klink and he shuddered.

All those years when Klink had been the butt of their jokes or their insults, Newkirk had enjoyed it. Teaching the bloody fool a lesson. Klink and his master race. Hah! That's what Newkirk had felt whenever Klink was being shown up or treated like an idiot.

Then he walked into that cell. And saw what they had done to Klink. Saw the bruises, the blood, the dirt, the exhaustion, the pain. And when Hochstetter lost control and started on Klink as they watched . . . The way Klink was slammed around and kicked. Then when Klink was put on that thing . . .

Newkirk shuddered as he remembered the screams. That's what Klink had saved them from. Maybe not just this time, but in the past as well.

He glanced at Klink's lined face. How many times had this man that he had insulted and ridiculed, this man that he had, more than once, wished dead, saved them?

Peter Newkirk knew they would never find out.

...

Corporal Louis LeBeau walked into the bedroom, carrying a bowl of hot soup. He sat beside the bed, holding the bowl in his lap and waited.

After a while, Klink's eyes opened; his head turned toward LeBeau.

LeBeau gave him a shaky smile. "I brought you some soup, mon Colonel," LeBeau whispered, for the first time using the respectful term. "Would you like to try it?"

He didn't wait for a response from Klink. Moving closer to the bed, he dipped a spoon into the soup and held it to Klink's lips. The man on the bed slowly sipped the soup. LeBeau tried it again. After some five or six spoonfuls of soup, Klink's pained blue eyes closed once again.

LeBeau, still holding a spoonful of soup in his hand, watched as Klink slipped back into sleep. With a sigh, LeBeau put the spoon back into the warm soup. The Kommandant still very tired, and, LeBeau knew, still in pain.

He glanced down the length of Klink's body and shuddered. The bruises were terrible, even worse than what Martinelli had done to Klink. LeBeau had never seen anyone beaten like this before.

LeBeau had been beaten once. Back in France, shortly after the Nazis paraded into his beloved Paris. He'd made some disparaging remarks to some German scum who'd come into a cafe. It hadn't been a particularly bad beating; in fact a German officer stopped it. But the beating only served to make him even angrier with the stinking Boche. Shortly afterwards, LeBeau joined the Free French. Unfortunately, it wasn't too long afterwards that he was captured and sent to Stalag 13. A Stalag commanded by a Luftwaffe officer, Colonel Wilhelm Klink — the man everyone regarded as a fool.

LeBeau sighed. He along with the others had made life difficult for this man. More difficult than they needed to. Almost always treating him with contempt, deriding him, insulting him, every chance they got. To find out that the ridiculous, supposedly incompetent Kommandant Klink was maybe the most courageous and most brilliant resistance leader in Germany had been quite a shock. To realize that he was also in the hands of the Gestapo was an even greater shock.

LeBeau shuddered again. When they discovered Klink in that cell, saw him on that rack, saw the blood running down his arm, LeBeau had thought he'd faint; he never could stand the sight of blood. And when Hochstetter caught them, a terrible fear shook LeBeau as he realized what Hochstetter wanted to do to them. And would have done to them, except for this man.

Louis would have liked to say that he wouldn't break. In the past, he had said it with boasting bravado. But deep inside, he knew better. He knew he could not withstand the kind of torture this man had endured for so long. Few could.

He should have seen Klink's courage, his strength, earlier. At the very least, he should have recognized the pain he saw when he had accidentally hit Klink with that door. But he'd ignored it. Ignored it because it was only Klink. A sad sigh. LeBeau hated the Nazis. One reason was that they treated people as nothing more than objects. People were useful only when they served a purpose for the Nazis. Otherwise, they had no rights, no feelings.

Another sigh. He didn't like to admit it, but that was the way he and the others had treated Klink. Rarely would they give him the respect due his rank. Rarely would they accord him any human respect. For as long as Louis LeBeau had been at Stalag 13, he had ignored Klink as a person. He saw only the hated uniform and nothing else.

Was his behavior really any less callous than that of the Nazis he hated so much? Sometimes, not really. And it made him feel ashamed.

He glanced at the sleeping man. If Doctor Müller were right, Monsieur Klink would be all right. He hoped so. Louis LeBeau had much to apologize for.

...

Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe walked into the room. Klink was still sleeping. He almost looked peaceful. Peaceful. Was that a word one could use to describe a man who had been beaten and tortured for over sixty hours? Hardly. Especially when you looked at the bruises.

Kinch sat down at the side of the bed. The sleeping man stirred and opened his eyes. Kinch picked up the glass of water and held it to Klink's lips. After a slow swallow, Klink shook his head and Kinch gently laid Klink's head back on the pillow.

"Would you like anything, sir?" Kinch asked.

Klink shook his head again and his eyes closed. As Kinch watched, Klink fell asleep. And Kinch shook his head.

Who would have believed it? Klink, the Stage.

Should they have guessed? Maybe. Thinking back, Kinch could remember times when Klink seemed to know exactly what they were doing. But Hogan always managed to twist it around so that Klink appeared to be more confused than ever.

Maybe they should have guessed after seeing what Martinelli had done to Klink and how he behaved. After all, he had withstood a beating that would have had many men cowering in fear. Yet, oddly, Klink hadn't. For someone who was supposed to be a coward, it was remarkable behavior.

At the very least, after the cave-in they should have noticed something. The way Klink had calmed Hogan down while the two men were trapped should have alerted them to the fact that Klink may have been more than he seemed. Then the way he behaved while he was trapped should have been another clue. His courage, the way he refused to give in to the pain, had been in retrospect decidedly out of character.

But no, they hadn't seen it. All of them had been blind, blinded because of a uniform and a brilliant facade. And that made Kinch rather uneasy. All his life, he'd encountered people who saw only the facade of his black skin and treated him accordingly. It was odd, but here in a prison camp he wasn't judged by his skin color. Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter never cared that he and Baker were Negroes. And the really funny thing was that, despite what they'd heard about Germans and the so-called master race, neither did Klink or Schultz. Now that he knew the truth about Klink and Schultz, he could understand it. But thanks to Klink — it had to be Klink's doing — none of the guards were outwardly racist either. But could he honestly say that he had never treated Klink as anything other than the stereotypical Nazi?

Not really. Kinch was forced to admit that there was a little bit of the bigot in everyone. Including himself. Of course, Klink did too well a job playing the inept Kommandant. And he'd paid for it.

If they had guessed earlier, could they have prevented what had happened? Kinch wasn't sure. And he knew that's what was eating Hogan. That they should have seen what was going on. In the end, Hogan did. But by then, it was too late.

Another glance at Klink's unshaven face; fatigue and pain still lined it. But Klink looked a lot better than he did when Kinch and Schultz walked into that cell and saw Klink on that rack.

Schultz had astonished Kinch then. Before he realized what the rotund sergeant was doing, Schultz had shot Hochstetter. Kinch had just barely managed to shoot the other two guards before Schultz fired again, killing Hochstetter. Kinch hadn't thought that Schultz was capable of killing anyone, but considering how Schultz felt about Klink, how Schultz had always really felt about Klink, he guessed it wasn't that surprising. What had surprised him was the bond growing between Hogan and Klink over the last few weeks.

But it shouldn't have. Whether they liked it or not, Klink was Hogan's counterpart. In a way, they were both isolated from their commands. Even the seemingly inept Kommandant knew what a burden command could be. And since the cave-in, the two men had clearly come to an understanding about where they stood. An understanding that solidified with each passing day. No wonder Hogan had been so shook when he realized who Klink was, and where he was. Kinch had to admit to being shaken also.

Another glance at Klink. He was glad he'd missed the beating the others had seen and missed most of the torture. Over the past few years, he'd lain awake a few times in his bunk, thinking about what would happen to them if they had gotten caught. He'd hoped that the worst the Germans would do would be to shoot them. He hadn't wanted to think about the alternatives.

But Klink had faced those alternatives, had faced them ever since he started his dangerous charade. Kinch had never dreamed that Klink had had that kind of guts.

He wondered bleakly if James Kinchloe did.

...

Sergeant Andrew Carter walked into the bedroom and tentatively approached the bed.

Klink was sleeping, but the blanket had slipped down, baring Klink's chest. Carter leaned over and carefully moved the blanket up to Klink's shoulders. Absently, he noted the still fresh scar left from the wound the Stage had received when he rescued Colonel Hogan not that long ago.

In a way, Carter was embarrassed seeing Klink this way. Then he smiled faintly. Weird, he hadn't been embarrassed to play Klink's doctor last year(1). It had been a scheme of Hogan's to get Klink to go into town. Make Klink think he was in perfect shape so the underground could use Klink's car to get a message back to them.

Perfect shape. Now, Carter was startled. While pretending to be a doctor, he'd examined Klink. Not completely, not like a real doctor. But . . .

He just realized something. That entire week, Klink had intimated that he was in bad shape. Hogan had even called him a physical wreck. And all of them had agreed.

But Klink hadn't been. In bad shape, that is. Now that he thought about it, Klink had been in pretty good shape. When he listened to Klink's heartbeat with a stethoscope, the heartbeat he'd heard had been strong, steady. And the muscles under his fingers were firm, not flabby.

Why didn't he notice it then? He could have told the Colonel. Hogan would have been suspicious or at least curious. Maybe Hogan could have guessed what was going on earlier. And if he had, then maybe what had happened to Klink need never have happened.

Carter shuddered, then glanced at Klink as Klink stirred for a moment. Klink had ordered them not to react to his torture after he'd intervened in Hochstetter's plan to torture them. An intervention that had cost him dearly.

A deep sadness swept over Andrew Carter. Sadness at how he had treated Klink in the past. Once while acting the part of a general, Carter had even struck Klink(2).

They didn't need to go that far. They could have carried out their plans and still have treated Klink with more respect.

In hindsight, Klink really hadn't been as bad as they all made him out to be. Schultz had said it best — Klink had tried to do his best by the prisoners. He had never harmed any of them. None of the Kommandant's discipline was ever physical or inhumane. Unlike some of the camps they'd heard about. Some of the stories Carter had heard from the prisoners of other camps had turned his stomach. Klink had only done what he needed to do. And they gave him only contempt in return.

They should have seen it. They should have seen how they were treating him. At the very least, they should have accorded him some modicum of respect. It wouldn't have cost them anything. And it might have made the man who had been fighting for so very long a little less lonely.

Carter hoped that Klink would forgive them. But right now, Andrew Carter was having trouble forgiving himself.

...

Colonel Robert Hogan entered the darkened room as Schultz finished bandaging Klink's infected wrist.

"How's he doing, Schultz?" Hogan asked quietly.

Schultz shrugged. "LeBeau left some soup, Colonel Hogan."

"I'll give it to him."

Schultz nodded and left the room as Hogan went over to the bed and sat beside it. He glanced at Klink's lightly bearded face. The pain and the exhaustion that had lined it finally seemed to be lifting. For a time, Hogan had wondered if it ever would.

Pain.

Hogan shuddered. He remembered how Klink's pain in that cave-in had frightened him. How he didn't know what to do about it. Especially when Klink screamed. But the pain Klink had endured then was nothing compared to what he'd suffered since his disappearance. The few minutes they'd witnessed proved that. And Klink had withstood that pain for nearly sixty-five hours.

Sixty-five hours.

Another shudder shook Hogan. How many times had he and his men talked about what might have happened to them if the Gestapo interrogated them?

Talked? Joked was more like it. Joked as he had joked with the Gestapo men who would sometimes question him. Especially Hochstetter. Once in a while, Hogan had encountered underground agents who were in danger of being caught. He'd heard their fake bravado, those pleasant little lies that people tell themselves when they're frightened and don't want to admit it. Laughing at what the Gestapo would do to them. Denying what the Gestapo would do to them. Denying they could be broken.

So unlike Klink. He had known what would happen to him if he were caught. And had planned for it so that no one else would be hurt by his weakness.

No. Not weakness. Klink knew he was a man of flesh and blood and not the myth that had grown up around him. His courage was immense and born of knowing exactly what he was facing. His tolerance of pain was also immense; Hogan knew he could never have tolerated the kind of torture Klink had endured for so long. But Klink did tolerate it. And he'd saved them from that fate as well.

Memories crowded each other inside Hogan's mind. Memories of other times when Klink had intervened on their behalf. Protecting them from Hochstetter and others. They had thought he was playing the fool when he did so. Now they were able to recognize what had happened. Hogan had never noticed the risk Klink took whenever he stepped in and protected them. Now Hogan knew. He had seen what happens to those who get caught taking that risk.

No, Hogan, like the rest of his men, had never really thought through what could happen to them. Perhaps that's why he didn't really think about what could have happened to Klink when he'd betrayed Klink to the Gestapo last month. It had always been a game to them. With risks to be sure. And danger. But that had made the game more exciting. And to a large extent, their status as Allied soldiers protected them. But what would protect Klink?

Nothing. The Stage's reputation ensured that if the man were caught, the Gestapo would use every sadistic torture they could devise against him. Not just to get information, but also to punish him for what he had done. There would be no easy death for him.

Why hadn't Klink told him who he was? Why?!

Why should he? What had Hogan done to earn his trust?

Nothing. From the first, Hogan had used Klink, used him as a tool, as something less than human. Why should Klink have trusted him?

It wasn't until Martinelli had beaten Klink that Hogan even bothered to consider Klink as something other than a tool. And even then, Hogan ran from the way he felt about Klink. He didn't want to be bothered considering Klink's humanity. He had acted more like a fool than the supposedly incompetent Kommandant Klink ever had. Not noticing how important Klink had become to him. Not caring what Klink had become to him. And when he finally did realize it, he tried to deny it. Deny it to the extent that he wished Klink harm.

And Hogan paid for it. The dreams, nightmares, he'd had after he wished Klink dead. Dreams where Klink would be hurt, bleeding. Dreams where Klink would fall into his arms. Dreams where Hogan would walk away from Klink's pleading eyes, leaving him alone. Dreams where those pained eyes would close, never to open again.

The dreams had scared Hogan. They still did. There were tears on his cheeks now. And the dreams had grown worse after Hogan had turned Klink over to the Gestapo. Hochstetter's voice had floated in and out of those dreams, taunting Klink as his pained eyes looked at Hogan.

Hogan's hands lifted to his face. And he'd nearly ignored Klink again in that cave. It had taken all of Klink's pain for Hogan to finally admit how he felt about Klink. Something he should have admitted a long time ago. If he had, then maybe, maybe . . .

Klink stirred; Hogan looked at him. Klink's eyes were still closed but his breathing quickened and he was moving restlessly. Klink was dreaming, reliving his torture. His hands were clenching and unclenching, his body arching as if still on the rack.

Hogan knelt beside the bed. "Kommandant?" he whispered. He wasn't heard.

There was no hesitation as Klink's bandaged hand lifted. Hogan grasped it firmly in his own. Klink's fingers crushed his in a death grip. And Hogan held on.

Eventually, Klink's body relaxed. The fingers were no longer so biting; his breathing settled down. Slowly, Klink's eyes opened, filled with tears and pain. He tried to focus on Hogan's anxious face.

"It's all right," Hogan said reassuringly, wiping Klink's sweaty face with a damp towel, his voice soothing, low. "It's over. You're safe now. No one can hurt you here." He started to relax his hold on Klink's hand.

A frightened, broken whisper, "No, don't . . . "

A voice from Hogan's nightmares. A voice he'd ignored in his dreams. But not now. And never again.

"No," Hogan vowed. "I won't leave you." His grasp tightened on Klink's hand. "To the end, Wilhelm Klink, you and me. Remember?" His eyes stayed on Klink's tearing ones. "You and me. To the end."

Klink's hand tightened on Hogan's as he echoed, "To the . . . end."

As Hogan watched, Klink's breathing settled and his eyes closed. And he continued to hold Klink's hand in his.

* * *

1 "Get Fit or Go Fight"

2"Lady Chitterley's Lover"


	3. Chapter 3

Act Two

Scene Two

– Three –

Doctor Dieter Müller returned after dark. He took off his overcoat and gloves and held his hands over the stove. It was freezing outside.

"How has he been?" he asked Hogan.

"Sleeping mostly. He managed to eat some soup."

Müller nodded. "I was able to visit the camp today."

"How is it?" Hogan asked.

"Quiet. Captain Gruber was glad to see me, and there were no unusual reports either there or in town."

"Good."

"I was able to talk with your man Baker. I told him you were all fine and that the rescue had been carried out successfully. He looked relieved."

Hogan managed a smile. "I bet."

"He said that he was still ready to carry out your original orders."

Hogan nodded. "Good. Right now, I'm not sure what we're going to do."

"Would you like my opinion?" Müller asked dryly.

A faint smile. "I think I can probably guess."

"I think you can. Well, it is time I examined my patient."

Müller picked up his bag and walked into the bedroom. Schultz was in there.

"He just woke up, Herr Doktor," Schultz greeted. "I will leave you alone."

Müller put his bag on the chair as Schultz left the room. "Hello, Wilhelm," he said quietly.

Klink cleared his throat. "You should not be here," he said in a low hoarse voice.

A thin smile. "I did not get the message," Müller explained. "I have been traveling."

"Therese?"

Müller sat down on the chair beside the bed and picked up Klink's wrist, checking his pulse.

"She received the message," Müller said quietly. "And crossed the border into Switzerland. I located her with friends." Müller glanced at Klink. "She was frightened but holding up well. I told her you are safe."

A sharp glance from Klink.

Müller smiled. "You are not the only one who can play with codes and secrets, Wilhelm. No one else would have understood the message."

Klink smiled wanly.

"Now you. How are you feeling? The truth, bitte."

"Tired." Klink's hand lifted to his face and he rubbed his eyes. "Very tired."

"Any pain?" was the soft question.

Klink's eyes were on the ceiling. "Some. The muscles, of course."

"Anywhere else?"

"I will admit to a splitting headache," Klink said. "And it feels as if every nerve in my body is alive."

"I see."

Müller stood and removed the blanket. His gentle hands moved surely over Klink's body. He seemed satisfied when he replaced the blanket.

"There is no unusual tenderness or anything else that might indicate internal damage," he told Klink. "They used electrical current?"

His brother-in-law nodded.

Müller had a little trouble controlling his voice. "Colonel Hogan said they had you for over sixty hours."

"I will take his word for it."

"And most of that time they used the current?"

Another nod.

"The pain would appear to be residual effects of the shocks given to your nervous system. It should fade over time." Müller took some tablets out of his bag. "I would prefer giving you only aspirin," he said. "Unless the pain . . . ?"

Klink shook his head.

Müller smiled briefly and poured a glass of water. He handed it to Klink, along with the two tablets. He watched Klink swallow the tablets. "Do you think you can sleep without a sedative?"

Klink nodded. "Yes. But a little later."

"Of course. Now, I imagine it has been a while. Let me help you out."

He helped Klink get out of bed and helped him to the outside toilet. After a few minutes, Müller helped Klink back into the bed.

Klink protested a little. "I am unused to all of this attention."

"Perhaps you should not be," Müller retorted. "I should be very angry with you, Wilhelm. You warned me about the dangers of . . . " He broke off at Klink's gaze. After a moment, Müller cleared his throat. "The subject is still verboten."

Klink nodded soberly.

A sigh. "All right, Wilhelm. I will keep silent. For now," he amended with a small smile that Klink managed to return. "Do you know what you are going to do next?"

Klink shook his head.

Müller nodded and stood. He repacked his bag. "I will be spending the night. If you later wish a sedative or some conversation, I will be in the next room."

"Danke schön, Dieter."

"Gute Nacht, Wilhelm."

"Gute Nacht."

...

Müller came out of the bedroom. A faint smile at Hogan. "He is doing better than I'd hoped. If you do not mind, I would like to spend the night."

Hogan shook his head. "No problem. Make yourself at home."

Müller glanced around the small cabin. His eyes landed on the bookcase. He walked over and put his medical bag on top of it. Then he reached out and picked up a book. A faint smile as he leafed through it. "I have not seen this in a while."

"What is it?" Hogan asked curiously as he walked over.

"Plato's _Republic,_ a very old edition of it," Müller said. "I gave it to Wilhelm for his fortieth birthday. Have you ever read it, Colonel?"

"Not in a long time," Hogan admitted.

"Nor had I. But at our second meeting, Wilhelm and I began to discuss it."

"An odd topic."

Müller smiled. "He happened to be reading it while I was waiting for Therese to get dressed for our, I believe the word is, date?"

Hogan grinned. "Yeah, date's right."

"Until then I had not thought much of him. I knew he was in the Luftwaffe." A small smile. "By then, I also knew how much Therese adored him. Frankly, I could not see why; he did not impress me at all. Until we started talking about this book. Suddenly, he was a different man. I sometimes wonder if he would have opened up that way if he did not already know I loved Therese. By the time I gave him the book, I was nearly a member of the family. Therese and I were married a few months later."

"And you named your son after him," Hogan said quietly.

A sad nod. "I named him after a man I had grown to love and admire tremendously. And to think," Müller's voice cracked, "that I could accuse him of all those things a few months ago."

"I've called him worse."

"But I knew him," Müller said with anguish. "I knew what was behind that mask that others saw. I should have realized what I was saying before I hurt him like that."

Müller replaced the book and scooping up his coat, hurried out the door.

With a sigh, Hogan watched the door close.

...

Dieter Müller walked down the lane and leaned on a dilapidated fence. He blinked back the tears in his eyes. He was remembering, none too happily, his last visit to the camp. His anger, even shame, at what he'd thought Klink had become. Then his fear when he realized the truth.

_It was a somber Dieter Müller who climbed the steps leading to Kommandant Klink's office. He walked into the office and knocked on the inner door. _

_Colonel Wilhelm Klink opened the door._

_After an awkward silence, Müller said, "May I come in?"_

_Klink stepped back and gestured a welcome. He closed the door and followed Müller inside._

_Müller looked uneasy._

_Klink broke the silence. "Are you finished with the prisoners' examinations?"_

_"Ja. Here is the report. I found no serious health problems. Considering the conditions, the prisoners are in excellent shape."_

_"Good. You are leaving now?"_

_Müller nodded._

_"Then there is nothing more to do. Or say."_

_Müller faced him. "Yes, there is . . . I wish to apologize."_

_Klink turned away. "For what?"_

_"For . . . " Müller cleared his throat. "I think I understand a little of what motivates you, Wilhelm, and others like you. You survive. And," a deep breath, "last night, I realized how important that is."_

_Klink turned back to him. "In what way?"_

_"I made contact with a resistance group last night, Wilhelm. More than one. Only the SS knew about the meeting as well. But for the courage of one man, I might have been caught or killed. I realized then what I had risked. And how foolish I was. I am not a soldier, Wilhelm. I am only a doctor in a uniform that has no meaning for me. As such, I am a liability to others." He looked soberly at Klink. "I had a gun in my hand and realized that I could not shoot."_

_"A doctor should save lives, Dieter," Klink said. "Not take them. And you are an excellent doctor."_

_A small smile. "Danke, Wilhelm." He stepped closer to Klink. "I haven't changed my mind about the resistance or the way to end this war."_

_A small smile in return. "I didn't think you had." There was an odd humor in his voice._

_"But I realize that I must leave it to others better suited than I. A brave man was injured because of me. I won't risk that again."_

_"I'm sure that is the wisest thing." _

_Müller laughed. "I was right, Wilhelm. You are a realist and a survivor . . . " A friendly clap on Klink's right forearm._

_And Dieter Müller froze. His doctor's eye could not miss the pain that flashed across the controlled face of the man before __him. Or the pain still lingering deep in his eyes. And he realized the awful truth. __His mouth opened, but the quick hand on his lips and the warning shake of Klink's head stopped him._

_Müller stayed silent, staring in shock at the man before him. He watched his brother-in-law step back, Klink's left hand straying to his forearm, then dropping away. The shoulders then straightened, as if nothing had happened. Nothing? Müller's life had been irreversibly changed in that second. _

_"I . . . " Müller took a deep breath to still the sudden pounding of his heart and to quiet the fear he now felt for this man. Slowly, he came to a decision, one he had to make to protect his wife. One that might protect this man. "I have decided to take Therese to my grandparents. As you know, they live near Switzerland. It is much safer there."_

_"An excellent idea." __There was no tremor in Klink's voice to betray him. _

_"There is a hospital where she can work. Perhaps in time there will be another child to show us how beautiful life can be."_

_"I hope and pray so, Dieter." _

_"And I pray Uncle Wilhelm will visit often." His eyes clung to the man before him._

_A smile. "I will probably out stay my welcome." _

_A sober smile in return._

_"A drink before you leave?"_

_Müller nodded, and watched as Klink poured brandy into two glasses. Left-handed, Müller noted. Klink gave a glass to Müller and lifted his own drink as the two men looked at one another. There was a twinkle deep in the eyes of the Kommandant; he understood Müller's dilemma._

_Müller had questions he could not ask, fears he could not voice. It had taken him a long time to learn to like this very private man. In time, he had learned to love him, first for Therese's sake, then for his own, for Müller had seen behind the public face. But all those stories he had heard . . . __He had not wanted to believe them; they were so at odds with the man he had come to know. But what he had seen and heard over the past few days had forced him to believe those stories. _

_And now he was filled with a greater respect for the man before him. __And terrified for him as well._

_"To Therese," Klink said quietly, lifting his glass in the toast. _

_Müller slowly lifted his own glass. "And to the men who love her."_

_Klink acknowledged the salute silently and drank._

_Müller gulped the fiery liquid and placed the glass on the table. Carefully avoiding Klink's right arm, he embraced Klink tightly._

_"Take care of yourself, Wilhelm," Müller whispered softly._

_There was a smile from Klink and another hug before they broke apart._

_"Write, if you can," Müller was saying as they left the office together._

_Klink escorted Müller to his car. Müller got in and closed the door. Klink leaned on the open window and glanced around quickly. Müller felt a chill as he watched Klink's face._

_"Dieter, I will say this only once," Klink said slowly, quietly. "You and Therese may receive a message. If the message is, 'The play is canceled; the stage is broken', you are to leave Germany that moment with no questions asked." His eyes met Müller's. "Is that understood?"_

_Müller's fear was reflected in his face, fear for Klink. He wet dry lips. "Ja, I understand." Then "Wilhelm — "_

_"No," Klink said softly, firmly. "No more words." Then raising his voice. "Give my love to Therese," he said loudly, grasping Müller's hand affectionately. _

_Müller nodded; behind Klink, he could see Hogan approaching. He started the car. "Auf Wiedersehen, Wilhelm." _

_Klink stepped away. Müller, raising a hand goodbye, drove slowly away._

_Müller had gone home, filled with trepidation. __Therese had run out to greet him. As always, his heart beat faster when he saw her. Nine years of marriage and a child had not changed the girlish figure or the way she moved._

_Nor did the pain of losing their son diminish the love they shared. They had reached out to each other when little Wilhelm __died. And they knew that while the pain wouldn't disappear, in time it would soften. _

_They didn't go into the house immediately. Arm in arm, they walked down the lane to the back garden and up the small hill overlooking their house. Müller brushed the snow away from a bench, their bench. And they sat._

_"Did you see him?" Therese asked eagerly._

_Müller nodded. "Ja."_

_"Is he well? And happy?"_

_Müller wasn't sure how to answer either question._

_"Well?" she demanded._

_Müller hesitated. He didn't know where to begin. But he had to give her the warning. He must, for all their sakes._

_"Therese." He took her cold hands in his and looked at her._

_She grew alarmed. "Wilhelm is well, isn't he? The war . . . He hasn't been hurt?"_

_"Therese," Müller said soberly, "there is something I must tell you. A story."_

_"I don't want to hear any stories. I want to know about Wilhelm. Tell me he is well." There were tears in her voice._

_Müller took his wife in his arms and held her close. "The story is about a very brave man, Therese," he said softly. "A man we both love deeply."_

_He felt her tremble as he told the story and she buried her face in his coat. When he finished, he was surprised to hear a faint laugh tinged with tears._

_"I knew it was all false," Therese whispered into his coat. "I knew it!"_

_Müller was astonished. "You heard the stories!"_

_"Of course I heard. I wasn't supposed to, but I did. And I didn't believe any of it," she said proudly. "I knew better."_

_"I should have known better as well," Müller said with a sigh._

_Therese held him close. "I am certain that he forgave you, as do I."_

_Müller kissed her. "You are a wonder, my darling." Then soberly, "You understand we must leave here."_

_The blonde curls nodded. "Ja. It will be hard on Mama."_

_"She can come as well. And your brothers as well," Muller said._

_"That may be more difficult to arrange. As for Mama, we will see."_

_As it turned out, the elderly woman didn't go with them to the Bodensee. She would not leave her home of so many years, nor her sons and their families. As for Therese's brothers, neither they nor their families could leave. Their occupations didn't give them the same leeway Müller had in these troubled times. Though the Müllers didn't give up easily, in the end it was only Therese and Müller who traveled south. There, both Müller and Therese, a nurse, began working in one of the hospitals, tending the wounded who returned in droves from the battlefronts._

_Shortly after their arrival, a man approached them. It happened to be on a rare day when both of them were home. At first, Therese thought it was a peddler selling odds and ends. There were many in Germany who were selling off their goods in order to survive. Therese, whose kind heart always tried to help those less fortunate, welcomed the man into the garden where she had been working. Then the man expressed a desire to see Doctor Müller as well. Therese, thinking the poor man needed medical help, fetched her husband. To their surprise, the man said he needed to talk to both of them. They sat in the gazebo overlooking the lake, surrounded by newly fallen snow._

_The man took out an envelope and handed it to Müller. "I do not know what is in there or who it is from. Nor do I need to know. But I was told you would recognize the handwriting."_

_With trepidation, Müller opened the envelope and read the note. Soberly, he passed it to Therese. Therese gasped as she recognized her brother's writing. It was a simple message, unsigned, instructing them to follow the bearer's instructions._

_Müller asked quietly, "What is it that you must say to us?"_

_"I must pass along some instructions for you," the man replied. "You may receive certain messages on the telephone. They are similar but mean different things. Please listen very carefully."_

_The couple sitting before him nodded soberly._

_"One message may be, 'The play is over'. It requires no further action from you. It simply means that a certain individual, who will remain nameless, has ceased operating. God __willing, it also means that the war is ended._

_"The second may be, 'The play is terminated'. This message means that a certain individual is dead."_

_Therese paled; Müller took her cold hand in his._

_The man continued, "If a time is mentioned, that time would be the approximate time of his death. Your orders would then come from whatever unit you are assigned to._

_"The third message, and the most important, is, 'The play is canceled; the stage is broken'. There should be a time mentioned." The man hesitated as Therese grew even paler. "If that message ever comes, you must disappear immediately."_

_Müller asked the question, though he had already guessed the answer, "What does it really mean?"_

_"It means," the man said soberly, "that the individual has been taken by the authorities."_

_"And you expect him to . . . break?" Müller asked in a tight voice._

_"Ja, which is why you must leave." The man couldn't look at the ashen-faced woman across from him. "Now, Herr Doktor, I must have every telephone number at which you and Frau Müller may be found, day or night. A person will be assigned to notify you as soon as a message is received."_

_Müller cleared his voice. "If we were to disappear, what consequences would there be to our families?"_

_A thin smile. "There would be units assigned who have no direct link to the individual to keep watch over those who may possibly be taken as well. But it is believed that the risk to those persons would not be too great. It is also suggested that the reasons you prepare for leaving be as realistic as possible. There is always the possibility that the message was sent prematurely or in error."_

_"And how likely is that?" Müller asked bitterly._

_"Very remote," the man admitted._

_Müller, after a glance at his wife's stricken face, wrote down the telephone numbers on a scrap of paper._

_The man took the paper from him and looked at it for a moment or two. Then he handed the paper back to a surprised Müller. The man tapped his forehead and smiled briefly. "Like a camera." And he stood._

_Müller stood as well. "Can you pass a message to your superiors?" he asked hesitantly._

_"Perhaps." _

_"I am no soldier as I discovered recently, so I would be of no use in that capacity. But if ever a doctor is needed . . . " Müller's voice faded._

_The man smiled. "That, Herr Doktor, was already known. Guten Tag, mein Herr. Frau Müller."_

_Therese barely noticed his departure._

_Müller sat down next to his wife. "Therese?" he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close._

_"I didn't think before . . . Dieter . . . Wilhelm, if they catch him . . . If they catch him, they will torture him," she whispered desperately. "They will torture . . . " She broke down, sobbing loudly._

_He had no words of comfort; he could only hold her close._

_That night, in the stillness of their room, they talked, their arms tightly wound around each other as they lay in bed. Müller had never felt so proud of Therese as he did in that moment. Once the shock had worn off and the tears dried, Therese put her mind to the problem of leaving. Müller wasn't surprised that her suggestions made excellent sense. They decided on a number of courses of action, depending on where they were if the message arrived. Unless they were together, each would slip away quietly and without suspicion; their occupations made unexpected telephone summonses reasonable._

_Once the course of action had been decided, Müller was not surprised to find Therese in tears again. Müller felt like crying as well. From the moment he realized who his brother-in-law was, the realization of what would happen to Klink if he were captured terrified Müller as well._

_Müller tried reassuring Therese that her brother had been playing his dangerous game for over ten years. But the question still haunted them, how much longer could Klink continue to defy the odds? When would the Gestapo or the SS finally catch up with him? All they could do was pray they would never receive the message. That was all. Just pray._

_..._

_The message had been sent. And it had been sent while Müller was away on an inspection trip. Therese was working at the hospital as usual. They usually took very little time off when Müller was home. And when he was gone, Therese would spend all of her days and a good part of her nights at the hospital. She needed the work when she was alone; her imagination carried her off into terrifying worlds._

_"Therese!" Helga called. "Telephone!"_

_Therese had no reason to fear the telephone. She was frequently called, by friends, patients, Müller's grandparents._

_"Hallo."_

_"Frau Müller?"_

_Still no fear. "Ja."_

_"I have a message regarding the play you inquired about," the voice said tonelessly._

_Therese stood still, the color draining from her face, her heart pounding in her breast. "Ja," she mumbled._

_"I regret to inform you — "_

Dear God, please, no._ Then . . . _Let him be dead. Bitte, if it is, let him be dead.

_"That the play was canceled approximately twenty-five hours ago. The stage is broken — " Her eyes closed to hide the pain. "Do you understand? The stage is broken."_

_Her voice was lifeless. "Ja. Ich verstehe. Danke schön." Slowly, numbly, she replaced the receiver._

_"Therese?"_

_She turned to the worried looking woman beside her._

_"Are you all right, Therese?"_

_The rehearsed words came out calmly and naturally. "A very dear friend has taken ill; she is not expected to live. I must see her now."_

"_Of course, you must," Helga said consolingly. "You put in so many hours here, I can spare you for a little time."_

_"Danke schön."_

_Therese walked down the stairs to the room she shared with the other nurses. Quite calmly, she took off her uniform and dressed quickly in her warm street clothes. Then, smiling mechanically at those she knew, Therese walked out of the hospital to her car._

_She drove quickly, but without undue hurry._

_The border. Müller and she had friends, close friends, across the border. And those friends had arranged a special pass for them. The words slipped mechanically off her lips at the border crossing. The gate lifted; it was not her first trip across and the guards knew her._

_Then she was in Switzerland, safe. Therese continued to drive without really seeing the snowy countryside._

_The estate was just ahead. The gatekeeper welcomed her, but seeing her pale face, he telephoned ahead._

_A picturesque castle loomed in the woods. The car stopped. Therese got out and walked to the front door. An elderly and very correct butler opened the door. A much older woman, leaning on an elaborate cane, came over to greet her._

_"Therese, my dear." The woman's voice was sympathetic, guessing at the cause of her visit._

_"They have him," she said in a slurred voice. Then Therese did something she had never done before in her life — she fainted._

_When Therese recovered, she found herself in a large bed in a beautifully furnished room, Baroness Mathilde Dietrich sitting by her side. The story was told dispassionately; then Therese fell sobbing into the older woman's arms. In time, Therese cried herself to sleep._

_Hours later, Therese, the Baroness at her side, waited in the drawing room, praying for word from Müller. Therese had contacted Müller's grandparents, telling her story about the sick friend. The old couple had promised to pass on her message to Müller if he called home. As the hours slowly passed, Therese's fear for her husband grew. She had heard nothing from him. For all she knew, he may not have gotten the message. As for her brother, Therese tried not to think about him at all. Every time she did, tears would form in her eyes. _

_Another day passed without any word. Therese bore up well, though the Baroness watched her worriedly. Therese seemed too calm._

_It was mid-afternoon of the second day when the telephone rang. The old butler answered it. Then he held out the telephone_ _to Therese. Shaking, she timidly took the instrument from his hand._

_"Therese."_

_Relief swept over her. "Dieter, I was so frightened. Are you — ?"_

_"My darling, I have little time. I just wanted to tell you about that old patient of mine, the one we were both worried about. He is past the danger point and is expected to live."_

_Therese paled and then flushed as she listened._

_"I should be home within a few days. In the meantime, stay with the Baroness. I am certain that she will require your care for a few more days."_

_"Jawohl, Dieter," she whispered. "Hurry back. Ich liebe dich."_

_"Ich liebe dich, Therese." _

_Therese slowly hung up the telephone. Now that it all seemed to be over, she couldn't stop shaking. Therese turned to the Baroness. _

_"I . . . " Her voice sounded like someone else's. "Dieter is safe. And Wilhelm," her voice broke. "He is free. He is free!"_

_The Baroness walked over to her and held her shaking body close. Therese burst into tears._

_"It is all right, Therese. Cry it out, my child. Cry it out."_

_..._

Dieter Müller sighed, pushed himself away from the fence, and looked around. The cabin was barely visible. He glanced at the sky; it had started to snow again. It was so quiet, so peaceful. Such a difference from the war-torn world. Here, it was as if the war didn't even exist.

The war. Müller was lucky. His profession and his family's prestige had kept him away from combat. He did his duty in the operating room and the wards of the hospital. Doctors were spread thin throughout Germany and his services were badly needed. He had even been able to help some of the resistance groups battling the madmen who kept on running this insane war.

Would it never end? How many more had to die? How much more of his country had to be destroyed?

Another glance at the cabin. Wilhelm. He had been extremely fortunate to escape from those monsters. And escape with such little damage. Hochstetter had wanted to keep him alive as long as possible. It was ironic that Hochstetter's sadism was what had saved Klink from injuries from which he might never have recovered. The question now was, what would Klink do?

Klink had to leave. Except for a very few who may have not received the message or who may have chosen to stay anyway, his organization was gone.

But there were other resistance groups still fighting. Groups that would welcome his skills. Groups like Colonel Hogan's.

Would Klink leave? Müller found himself praying he would.

...

Robert Hogan went into the darkened bedroom and stopped as he saw the empty bed. A glance at the window. Wilhelm Klink, in a dark robe, sat by the unshuttered window, looking out at the falling snow. Klink glanced at Hogan for a moment before turning his gaze back to the view.

Hogan walked over to Klink and stood awkwardly, not really certain what to say to him.

"Please, sit down, Colonel Hogan," Klink invited after a moment, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hogan sat on the side of the bed. Klink continued to look outside; Hogan waited patiently.

"I had forgotten how beautiful snow is," Klink said quietly after a long silence. "I never expected to see it again." A pause. "Thank you for allowing me to see it again."

Hogan stared at his hands, and then cupping them together, looked up at Klink. "Colonel, there are some things we need to talk about."

Klink nodded. "You have questions."

"Yes," Hogan admitted. "But they can wait."

Klink looked at him with faint puzzlement.

"Sir," Hogan's voice was filled with a respect it had never before held, "you have a decision to make."

Klink waited.

"Sir, Kinch and Schultz examined the records in that place. 

You were not identified by name. No record exists of anyone being told that you were there. And as far as we know, Hochstetter," he nearly spat the name, "told no one in Hammelburg or Berlin that you had been arrested." He paused.

"Go on," said the quiet voice.

"As far as we can tell, your secret is still safe." His unusually somber eyes met Klink's. "Sir, the decision you need to make is, do we go back to Stalag 13, or do we continue on to Switzerland or London?"

Klink's gaze stayed on him for a moment and then returned to the outside. "Colonel Hogan, my organization is gone."

"Yes, sir, it is," Hogan admitted. "But — "

"But Papa Bear would like to continue."

"Sir, I'm not going to say one way or another," Hogan said. "I'm only presenting alternatives. There is still work to be done here, work you could do. But the decision must be yours. We have no idea if Hochstetter told anyone. If he did — "

"Then they will arrest me the minute we return to camp," Klink finished quietly.

_How can he be so calm about it? _"Yes, sir. And what Hochstetter started," Hogan had to restrain a shudder, "they will finish."

"You might be arrested as well," Klink pointed out in that quiet voice.

"Yes, sir. But they'll just shoot us."

"Not necessarily. You could be facing the same risk as I," Klink continued calmly. "They could be very unpleasant to all of you as well."

"More so to you."

"Yes." A pause. "Are you all willing to take the risk?"

A deep breath. "Yes, sir. We are."

"Perhaps because you don't fully understand it," Klink said. "I had always thought the greatest fear was facing the unknown. Perhaps it is harder to face the fear that is known."

Hogan didn't know what to say.

"I will think about it, Colonel Hogan," Klink said in that same quiet voice.

Hogan stood. He had been dismissed.


	4. Chapter 4

Act Two

Scene Two

– Four –

Morning. The smell of LeBeau's cooking — hot coffee, powdered eggs and canned sausages — filled the small cabin. He'd even managed to bake some rolls on the stove.

Müller took a cup of coffee from Newkirk and turned. The cup nearly fell to the floor. "Wilhelm!"

They all turned to stare at the door to the bedroom. Klink, still unshaven but dressed in a dark blue sweater and pants, stood there, watching them.

"You should not be — " began Müller.

"Dieter, please, go." The voice was quiet, but his eyes were intense as they looked at Müller. "Now, bitte."

Shaking, Müller put the cup on the table and walked closer to Klink. "Wilhelm." Müller's voice was tight with emotion.

"This does not concern you, Dieter," Klink continued, his tone implacable. "Please, go." A pause and his expression softened. "We will say goodbye later. Now go."

Müller gazed at Klink for a long moment and then nodded. He picked up his coat; Carter helped him put it on. Another glance at Klink, then a deep breath, and he nodded goodbye to the others. Cold air swept into the room as Müller left the cabin.

Klink's gaze took them all in — LeBeau at the stove, a spatula in his hand; Carter still at the door he had closed; Newkirk holding the pot of coffee; Kinchloe nursing a cup at the far window; Schultz sitting at the table, a fork with sausage on it in his hand; and Hogan watching him closely from the table. All of them seemed unsure how to react to his presence. It was rather embarrassing; he had to break the mood.

"Sergeant Schultz!" A nearly normal Klink voice.

Startled, Schultz dropped his fork; it clattered noisily to the table. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"You disobeyed orders," Klink said conversationally. "You should be in Switzerland."

Schultz's face fell. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

"I made a grave mistake with you, Sergeant Schultz."

Schultz flinched in the face of his superior's apparent displeasure.

Klink moved closer to him, his voice dropping. "I underestimated you, my friend." Schultz's face lit up. "It is a mistake I do not intend to repeat."

Klink's hand rested briefly on Schultz's shoulder as the mood in the cabin visibly lightened. But Klink's expression as he looked at Hogan was somber. "Colonel Hogan."

Hogan stood, facing him.

"Are you and your men still willing to return to camp?"

Hogan looked at his men, reading their expressions. "Yes, sir," he finally answered as they nodded acceptance.

"Please," Klink said, "don't underestimate the danger. My fate may be yours as well."

A deep breath. "Yes, sir, we know." His eyes met Klink's. "We still want to try."

A ghost of a smile. "'By their own follies they perished, the fools'," Klink quoted.

"What?"

"Homer's _Odyssey_," Klink said. "All right, Colonel Hogan. How do you propose to explain our absence from camp?"

"Well," Hogan began, "we were released to undergo a special interrogation."

"By whom?"

"Major Teppel of Abwehr," Hogan explained. "He's really — "

A trace of a smile on Klink's face. "I know about Major Teppel. And does he now know about me?"

"Yes, sir," Hogan said. "He was the one who found the place where Hochstetter was holding you."

Klink nodded. "A problem, but a minor one. What about my absence?"

"Hochstetter provided you with an excuse," Hogan said.

"Hochstetter is dead," Klink said. "How do I explain my being alive?"

Hogan couldn't meet his eyes. "I haven't gotten that far."

Klink's voice became steely cold. "I cannot afford to improvise, Colonel. Not now. We need an airtight story to explain the past few days. Unless you can provide one, we leave."

Hogan stayed silent, unable to respond.

Klink's eyes swept the group of Allied soldiers. They each bravely, if nervously, met his gaze.

Klink turned to Schultz. "Sergeant, how long since you made the call? Exactly."

Schultz looked at his watch. "Seventy hours, almost seventy-one hours."

Klink looked once again at Hogan and the others. They were watching him silently, waiting for his decision.

Klink went over to the portable telephone on the counter and picked up the receiver. He dialed a number, waited thirty seconds and hung up. He repeated the entire process as Hogan and the others watched curiously. And one more time, he dialed. This time, he began speaking in a language none of them understood.

Hogan glanced at Schultz.

Schultz shrugged. "It is combination of old Latin and Greek. I do not know it."

"Latin!" from LeBeau.

"And Greek?" from Carter.

Hogan cocked his head, listening. "Doesn't sound like my altar boy Latin," he murmured, shaking his head.

The conversation went on for about ten minutes as the others watched and listened in puzzlement.

Klink finally hung up and looked at Hogan. "Except for Schultz, he is the last of my group who should be in Germany. He had orders to wait for seventy-two hours."

"In case you got free and needed help?"

Klink nodded. "He will try to arrange a plausible story, complete with documentation. But you must all still convince me you can pull it off. Understood?"

Hogan nodded. "It's your show, Colonel. All the way."

Klink managed a faint smile. "As long as we all understand that, Colonel Hogan."

Klink's hand strayed to the bandage around his right wrist. He rubbed it absently and then stopped, appearing to notice the bandage for the first time.

"Would you like me to change the bandage, Herr Kommandant?" Schultz asked.

Klink shook his head. "No, not yet. But this," he held up his 

wrist, "will be a little difficult to explain."

Klink picked up a cup and walked over to where Newkirk stood. Newkirk poured him a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Corporal." Then . . . "Sergeant Schultz!" The voice they all knew so well. "You are a great big clumsy idiot!"

Schultz stood and saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" The Schultz they had always known. Then he looked confused. "Uh, what did I do?"

Klink held up his bandaged wrist. "Slammed a door on my wrist, you idiot! You could have broken it!" His voice dropped to the quiet tone they were beginning to know. "We will work out the details later." He took a sip of the coffee. "Finish your breakfast, Schultz."

"Would you like something to eat, mon Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"No, thank you, Corporal LeBeau. I am afraid that I am still not hungry."

Klink went over to the window beside the bookcase and gazed out at the snow-covered woods. Hogan walked over to him.

"And where is Sergeant Baker?" Klink asked.

Not surprised that Klink knew about Baker, Hogan answered, "He's supposed to wrap things up if we don't return by tomorrow night."

Klink nodded and then said quietly, "I suppose you would like some questions answered now, Colonel Hogan."

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind."

A tiny smile. "Please, Colonel Hogan. I am not used to all this solicitude."

A smile in return. "You're going to take some getting used to."

"Not really," Klink said, rubbing his tired eyes. "If we go back to camp, things will be much as they were before. I will once again be Kommandant Klink."

"Down to every detail?"

Klink's hand dropped to his side. "Kommandant Klink needs an alibi, Colonel Hogan. We can try to give him one. We cannot give him a new personality at the same time." He looked at Hogan. "Ask your questions, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan looked at the man he had once despised and ridiculed, and the hero he had always admired. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

His voice was more plaintive than he realized. But he knew that he was asking the question on two levels.

Klink smiled faintly and answered the public question. The private one he would face later. "You did not need to know."

"I didn't . . . !" Hogan's voice rose. "You run the biggest operation in Germany under my nose and I didn't need to know?"

Klink looked at him curiously. "No, you did not. If I thought it was necessary for you to know, I would have told you in the beginning. Besides, you have been managing very well by yourselves."

"Yes. But — "

"Colonel Hogan, how large do you think my operation was?"

"Uh, I don't know. A couple of hundred?"

"There were some two thousand men and women directly involved," Klink said to Hogan's surprise. "With ties to another 30 or 40 smaller groups. I really did not need another group to worry about. Especially a group that knew who I was."

"But you knew about us!" Hogan objected.

"Of course, I knew about you," Klink said with amusement. "You would not even exist without my approval."

"Wait a minute," Hogan protested. "Our group was cleared through London."

"Who cleared it with me," Klink said. "Come now, Colonel Hogan. London could hardly approve a resistance group operating from my camp without asking my permission first." He took a sip of his coffee. "I will admit I was surprised when I discovered what you were up to. I was expecting a mass escape."

"Uh, when?"

"When Schultz found the tunnels."

"He _found_ the tunnels?"

"Of course," Klink said. "When they were first started. We let them go on out of curiosity. Then London notified me of your plans." His eyes met Hogan's. "Your impudence surprised me, Colonel. I did not realize how little you thought of Kommandant Klink until then," he said. "I will admit to being a little insulted when I found out. But then I saw how I could turn it to my advantage. With you around, I did not have to worry about protecting Kommandant Klink. You would do that for me. To protect yourselves."

"We were had," Hogan stated.

"Yes." A tiny smile. "You were." His smile grew at Hogan's obvious chagrin. "Don't worry, Colonel Hogan. You were not the first. Or the last."

"Yeah, well . . . " Hogan was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Klink smiled briefly.

Hogan changed the subject. "What went wrong this time?" He regretted the question as Klink's expression changed. "Stupid question. You don't have to answer that."

"What happened was I let myself be talked into giving someone more authority than he could handle," Klink said grimly.

"This guy, Pflueger."

Klink nodded. "For years, he performed well. Then he was given increasingly greater responsibilities. First, small things went wrong. Then larger things. I secretly attended one of his meetings, unfortunately unmasked, to see for myself. And one of my deputies, thinking it would help him, stupidly pointed me out as the Stage. Pflueger's mental condition was not good; he was too frightened and oddly too cocky. So I ordered him out of the country."

"And he was caught."

Klink nodded. "The people who remained with him were too inexperienced; they obviously tried to find him and waited too long before giving the warning."

"By then, they had already picked you up," Hogan said quietly.

A nod. "Yes. I underestimated Hochstetter; I didn't think he could plan so well. So I didn't suspect anything was wrong until it was too late."

"And Pflueger?"

"I saw him. They wanted information and quickly." Klink's eyes were haunted by the memory. "They were brutal and ugly. He held out longer than I would have guessed."

"But he did break and betrayed you."

"He paid, Colonel Hogan. With his life." He looked at Hogan. "They can break anyone, given time. They would have broken me," he admitted calmly.

"Not from what I saw," Hogan said quietly.

"And what did you see, Colonel Hogan?"

"A man on his knees, defying his torturers," Hogan said. "Thinking of others besides himself."

"I wasn't thinking of you, Colonel Hogan," Klink said. "I was thinking of myself. At that point, I was trying to find a way to die."

Hogan looked as shaken as the others as Klink's eyes went back to the window.

"If they put any of you on that rack, I would be resting, regaining some of my strength. By then, I could not let that happen. I thought your attack had failed and, at that point, it was only a matter of time before Hochstetter won. But I hoped that the weaker I became, then, maybe, the closer death was. I was trying to find a way to make Hochstetter angry enough to lash out at me. I was praying that the angrier Hochstetter became, the more likely it was that he would make a mistake. Perhaps hit me hard enough to cause internal damage. Or accidentally increase the voltage to the point where it might trigger a heart attack. Anything." He shook his head. "No, Colonel Hogan, I was being very selfish at that point."

"And what are you now?" Hogan asked softly.

Klink sipped his coffee before answering. "I like to finish what I start, Colonel. I would like to see the war end here, where everything started. Not in Switzerland or London."

"Even if it means torture again?"

"I am counting on you to protect me." A tiny smile that Hogan had trouble returning.

After a short silence, Klink's hand strayed to his eyes again. "I am sorry, Colonel. But I'm still very tired." His hand dropped. "I am going to get some sleep. But," his eyes met Hogan's, "I must be awakened in exactly," he pulled his watch from his pocket and checked it, "one hour. If I do not call back on time, my contact will leave."

Hogan nodded and checked his own watch.

Klink went back to the bedroom and closed the door.

After Klink left the room, the others let out sighs of relief.

"He's got a lot of guts," Kinch said quietly.

"Yeah, a lot more than I've got," from Newkirk. He looked at Hogan. "Colonel, are we doing the right thing?"

"It was his decision."

"But are we making him do it?" Newkirk persisted.

"You could not make him do anything he did not want to," Schultz said softly.

"What about you, Schultzy?" LeBeau asked. "What do you think he should do?"

"Go to Switzerland," Schultz said firmly. "But he will not. I knew that from the moment he made the call. If there is any way this will work, he will take it. It has always been that way. It is what made him so successful and why others were so willing to follow. It is also why the Nazis hate him so much."

"The question still remains," Hogan said quietly. "Are the rest of you certain you want to go through with this?"

"I thought we hashed this out last night, Colonel," Kinch said.

"I just want to make certain," Hogan said. "He's right. This time, we're all in it together. If we slip up anywhere along the line, they get us. If we're lucky, they'll shoot us. If not, what happened to him will happen to us."

"We know, mon Colonel," LeBeau said soberly. "We, I still want to try."

"So do I," affirmed Kinch.

"And me," from Carter.

"Why not?" Newkirk managed a small smile. "I'm just as crazy as the rest of you."

"Schultz?" Hogan asked him.

"I swore to follow him no matter what, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said solemnly. "If he goes back, I go back. Besides, what would the rest of you do without me?"

Hogan smiled. "I don't even want to think about it." He glanced around the cabin. "We'll probably be leaving soon. Let's get this place cleaned up."

There were groans from his men as they complied with his order.

An hour later, Hogan walked into the bedroom. To his surprise, Klink was at the dresser, wiping his clean-shaven chin with a towel. Klink dropped the towel on the dresser and checked his face in the mirror. He seemed pleased.

"No bruises," he said to Hogan. "That might have been awkward."

"Somehow, I think you'd think of something."

A faint smile and Klink walked away from the dresser.

Hogan stopped him before he opened the door. "Colonel, are you sure you want to go through with it?"

"Yes, I am," Klink said. "But if any of you have doubts, tell me now."

"Sir, the only doubts we have — are we being fair to you?"

"Do not worry about me, Colonel Hogan. Remember the Stage is superhumanly fearless, confident and all those other disgustingly heroic things. He never fails." Klink smiled as he opened the door.

_True,_ Hogan thought bleakly. _But what about Wilhelm Klink?_

The second telephone call was even more perplexing than the first. Klink was writing a series of letters and numbers on a sheet of paper as he talked in that incomprehensible tongue.

Finally he spoke in German. "Danke, my friend. Have a safe journey. God willing we will meet later. Auf Wiedersehen."

Klink hung up the telephone, resting his hand on it for a moment. Then with a sigh, he straightened. "The Stage is now officially out of business," he said with some sadness. "Eleven years, gone." He shook his head. "I really didn't think it would end like this. But then," he considered briefly, "I really didn't think it would last so long either."

He went back to the table, taking the paper with him.

"Sergeant Carter, the books on the first shelf of the bookcase, bring them here, please."

"These?" Carter picked up the books as Klink nodded.

Hogan glanced at them as Klink sat. They were all in languages he couldn't read.

Klink opened the books, matching certain pages against his list, then writing more down, again in languages none of them could read. After he was finished, Carter replaced the books on the shelf. Klink sat back, reading silently for a few minutes while the others waited patiently.

Finally, Klink looked at Hogan. "It may be possible. My friend has done an excellent job organizing this. It remains only for us to make it work."

Hogan glanced at the scrawls on the paper. "I'll take your word for it."

Klink smiled. "It is a blend of ancient Greek and Latin. There are few in Germany who could begin to read it. As far as I know, no one in the Gestapo has ever mastered the art."

Hogan was more than impressed. "Your brainstorm?"

Klink shook his head. "My friend's. It took years before I learned it to the point where I could use it. It is pretty much foolproof."

"It's got me fooled," mumbled Newkirk as the others grinned.

Klink stood. "We leave in half an hour."

Half an hour later, Klink came out of the bedroom, carrying a spare uniform. Schultz took it from him.

"You look better," Hogan said, appraising him.

A small smile. "I am certain I smell much better. Though it will take another shower or two before I feel really clean again. And I suspect that Schultz will have to search me thoroughly for unwanted guests."

Hogan nodded soberly, barely restraining a shudder as he remembered Klink's appearance in that cell. For a man who had always been careful about his personal hygiene, the stink and dirt of the cell, the lack of sanitary facilities, must have been another battle that Klink had to fight.

"Shall we go?" Klink asked.

Hogan nodded and opened the door. The others filed out silently.

Klink was the last one out. A glance around the cabin. Everything had been put away. Would he ever be back again?

A sigh and he closed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Act Two

Scene Two

– Five –

Hogan sat in the front seat of the car between Klink and Schultz as Schultz drove them through snow covered country. He still had no idea what Klink was up to.

Finally, he couldn't stand the suspense. "Where are we going?"

"About two hundred kilometers into the country to an SS installation," Klink said.

"What!"

A faint smile. "An SS installation manned by the resistance, Colonel."

"Do they know who we are?"

"Not directly. The password will identify us."

"Okay, why are we going there?"

"They will interrogate you and your men; supposedly they will have been doing that ever since you left the camp. There will be transcripts of questions asked and answers given to prove where you have been."

"They're making it all up?"

"No, Colonel. You will."

"Huh?"

"It will be a very full twenty-four hours, Colonel. Very full."

"It would have been easier going to Switzerland," murmured Hogan.

Klink just smiled.

Finally, the car pulled up in front of a barricade, a barricade guarded by an alert and armed SS trooper.

"Halt!!" ordered the guard.

Schultz stopped the car and waited as another guard came over to the car window.

"Password," said the emotionless guard.

"Mephistopheles," Klink said in an equally toneless voice.

The guard nodded once. "Take the left road until the end. Do not stop for any reason. If the car has a problem, remain inside until someone comes. If you leave the car or the road, you will die. Is that understood?"

Klink nodded.

The guard stepped away from the car and the barricade opened. Schultz drove through the gate, taking the left fork.

As they drove, Klink turned to the others. "Once we arrive, do not speak to anyone until I give you leave to do so. I must warn you that these people can be very ruthless. They will try to frighten and intimidate you. If they succeed, we will not be returning to camp. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sirs" echoed in the car.

Hogan's eyes met Klink's for a moment. There was an unexpected hardness in Klink's eyes that softened into a faint smile. Hogan looked away, but he found himself wondering just what they were getting into.

After a few minutes, the car stopped before a forbidding-looking building. They were immediately surrounded by SS troops. The car doors were yanked open, and Hogan and the others were pulled out of the car. None too gently, they were searched for weapons and then pushed toward the building. It was dim inside, and grim. Prodded by the guards, they were led down a dank corridor and into a windowless room. They found themselves pushed into chairs around a large table. Hogan looked at his men. They were all somber, too somber. Schultz looked visibly uncertain, nearly frightened. Only Klink seemed unconcerned.

An SS captain stepped into the room. Stepped? Swaggered into the room. And he smiled at them.

"So, what do we have here?" he said in heavily accented English, a mocking smile on his face. His eyes swept their faces and clothes. "Such a strange collection of uniforms." He walked around them, the baton in his hand hitting his palm sharply. "American, British, French, even German." A smile. "How very strange."

The stick in his hand swooped down and struck the table in front of LeBeau. The small Frenchman jumped reflexively and then felt an iron grip on his shoulder.

"Did that startle you, Monsieur? I'm afraid I do not know your name, Monsieur?"

LeBeau glanced at Klink who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Trying to ignore the increasingly harder grip on his shoulder, LeBeau stared straight ahead.

The captain smiled for a moment, his hand leaving LeBeau's shoulder. He turned to Carter. "What about you, soldier? You are an American, are you not?"

Carter swallowed hard but resolutely kept his eyes on the table.

"I see. You have no tongue either." He turned to Schultz. "Do you have a tongue, Sergeant?"

A small tick in Schultz's eye betrayed his anxiety.

"Your name, Sergeant!" roared the captain, the stick striking the table beside Schultz.

Schultz flinched and sweat broke out on his brow, but he stayed silent.

The captain moved up beside Hogan. "An American colonel." His hand reached inside the holster and pulled out his pistol.

Hogan found himself sweating as the gun was placed against his temple.

"Your name, Colonel."

Hogan stayed silent. To his astonishment, he could hear the weapon being cocked.

"Five seconds, Colonel."

Hogan's eyes found Klink's, asking none too politely what the hell was going on? Klink looked at him impassively. Hogan forced himself to relax, and forced himself to look up at the captain with unafraid eyes.

The captain stepped away from Hogan and holstered his gun. He turned away for a moment and then swung around to Klink. "Mephistopheles."

"Beatrice," Klink responded.

The captain nodded once and left the room.

Hogan could see his men bursting to ask what was going on. They looked at Klink who looked back with that same impassive gaze. Then they looked at Hogan, Hogan who shrugged and relaxed into his chair.

After a couple of minutes, an SS colonel came in, looking at them with interest. Then he turned to Klink. "'Here must all distrust be left behind; all cowardice ended.'"(1)

"Necessity brings me here, not pleasure," Klink paraphrased.

The colonel smiled briefly. "I apologize for the rough welcome, gentlemen, but we have our reasons. In this room, we can talk freely. Your real names, rank and current posting, please."

Hogan glanced at Klink who nodded. "Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps. Currently a prisoner at Stalag Luft 13."

The others also introduced themselves. Only Klink's name seemed to surprise the colonel.

"Thank you. If you will wait a few more minutes, gentlemen." With that he left the room.

He returned five minutes later and sat down at the table. A woman wearing a sergeant's uniform and carrying a notepad also entered; she stayed unobtrusively near the door.

"I am Standartenführer Schiller. And you, Colonel Hogan, are also known as Papa Bear," the colonel said to Hogan's surprise. He turned to Klink. "You are the surprise, Kommandant Klink. While Papa Bear is known to me, your presence is unexpected. Your reputation, Kommandant — "

"Remains my own," Klink said quietly.

Schiller nodded. "Given that reputation, Kommandant, if you had given any other password save 'Beatrice', I might have killed you without a word."

"I know," Klink acknowledged.

"What do you need from us, Kommandant?" Schiller said.

"An alibi," Klink said soberly. "These men were released from Stalag 13 for special interrogation by Major Hans Teppel of Abwehr four days ago."

"I know of Teppel," Schiller said. "But he does not know us. Can he be trusted?"

"Yes," said Hogan. "He'll do what I say."

"Good. What about you, Kommandant?"

"My situation is more complicated," Klink said. "I was taken by Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo, supposedly to interrogate a special prisoner. I can provide a story to account for a few hours. But I must have been brought here or ordered here by a still living Hochstetter, and I must have remained here until Hogan and the others arrived the next day."

"I take it that Hochstetter is no longer alive."

"Nor any of his men."

"The Gestapo will not like that," Schiller said dryly. He thought a moment. "I would prefer that a guard who is now conveniently dead be the one who brought you here. Guards are anonymous; no one notices who they are or what they look like."

"That won't prove that he had nothing to do with Hochstetter's death," Hogan objected.

"No, it will not. But I will not agree to do more." Schiller looked at Klink. "The rest will depend on you."

Klink nodded. "Agreed."

Schiller turned to Hogan. "As for you and your men, Colonel, I warn you that the interrogation you will be subjected to will be very real, very demanding, and very exhausting. It may be the most difficult thing that any of you have ever done in your lives. Are you certain you want to do this?"

Hogan nodded. "We're sure."

Schiller smiled without humor and turned to Klink. "Your role in this will be as an observer?"

Klink nodded. "Yes. I will also object strongly and uselessly against the interrogation, and be overruled."

"The reason?"

"The numerous acts of sabotage around Stalag 13," Klink said. "You are not convinced that Hogan and his men know nothing about them."

"I see." The colonel fell silent for a few minutes. "Yes, it would work. Fraulein Braun, you will need to get all the material together. I assume, Kommandant, that whether this play goes beyond these walls will be your decision."

Klink nodded. "If I am not convinced that the interrogations and the rest of the alibis are faultless, we will leave. There is too much at stake for any mistakes."

"I agree." Schiller looked at them all. "I will have food and drink sent in for you." His eyes sparkled with an odd humor. "I am afraid that for you Allied soldiers, it will be the last meal you will have until you are ready to leave. Colonel Hogan, once we start the interrogations of your men, we will not interrupt them for any reason. You will not be allowed to see them or speak to them until it is over."

Hogan wasn't too happy. "Is that necessary?"

Schiller nodded. "Yes. We have discovered to our regret that unless the facade of a real interrogation is maintained completely, people do not take it seriously. Some have died because of that mistake. You are also asking us to alibi you for several days. You and your men must have the appearance of being interrogated for days on end. Time must become immaterial to you so you will not have to account for it. If you are separated and not allowed to speak to each other, you will not have to think up elaborate stories to account for those days. There are some details that we will need to work out with you, Colonel Hogan, so your interrogation will not be as extensive. And as an officer you will be shown a courtesy that does not extend to your men. I know you are not happy with this, but there is no choice. I promise you that your men will not be injured, but it will be an exhausting ordeal for them mentally and physically."

"You can still change your mind, Colonel," Klink said quietly. "Any of you can."

Hogan looked at his men. He could tell that they weren't looking forward to what was going to happen. He could see that it scared them. But there was determination in their eyes as well, and one by one they nodded their agreement. Hogan looked at Schiller. "We go on."

Schiller nodded and stood. "All right, Colonel. We begin in one hour."

All too soon for Hogan and his men, it began. When Schiller and the captain returned, it was in character, ready to begin the interrogations. Klink slipped into his familiar Kommandant role, objecting loudly and uselessly. Hogan found himself objecting as well, and was even more rudely ignored. Hogan's men, after exchanging uneasy glances with Hogan, left with the captain.

Schiller turned to the three remaining men. "Follow me, please."

Schiller led the way deeper into the fortress-like building to a communications room. There he turned to Hogan. "We are placing a call to Teppel. Go through your normal identification procedures. Then introduce me and I will take over."

Hogan nodded and took the telephone from Schiller.

Teppel was relieved and more than surprised to hear Hogan's voice; guiltily, he realized that he'd expected Hogan to fail. Teppel's surprise turned to astonishment as Hogan handed the telephone to Schiller.

Hogan listened for a moment and turned to Klink. "Who are these guys?"

Klink smiled tiredly. "Professional soldiers, Colonel. In the First Division, the Second and so on."

"Huh?"

"They each hold several identity papers with real names and histories. If need be, there are people who will vouch for them."

"So when the stories are checked, they will be believed."

Klink nodded.

"Nice. Your idea?"

"Partly. But I had nothing to do with coordinating it."

"Your friend?"

"No. He was just one of the sponsors. I don't know who runs it."

"But what if you need them again?"

"Then it will be my misfortune. I have no idea how to contact them."

"You have burned all your bridges, haven't you?"

"Hochstetter did that for me, Colonel," Klink said quietly. "In a way, he accomplished what he set out to do. Even if he didn't know it, he did destroy the Stage, quite completely."

Schiller came over. "One of my men will see Teppel tomorrow to go over the final story. He will not be a problem, but I have suggested that he leave Berlin for a few days after he is asked to verify your story." A quick smile. "For security."

Klink nodded. "A reasonable precaution."

Schiller's smile was grimmer as he turned to Hogan. "Colonel Hogan, is there anyone else who should know of this?"

Hogan thought a moment and then shook his head. "If we return to camp by tomorrow night, no."

"Good. The less contact we have with outsiders, the safer it is. Now, Colonel," a humorless smile, "if you are ready . . . "

Schiller opened the door. A couple of formidable-looking guards were waiting in the corridor.

Hogan looked at them and glanced at Klink. There was a regretful look in Klink's eyes; he more than anyone knew how difficult the ordeal would be. "Ready," Hogan said evenly. And suddenly grinned with all of the cockiness that used to infuriate Kommandant Klink. The grin was still on his face as he left the room.

Schiller's surprise was evident as he turned to Klink, who smiled faintly. "Courage? Or foolhardiness?" Schiller demanded.

"Both," Klink said softly.

Schiller nodded curtly and gestured. "This way, gentlemen."

...

It went on for twenty hours, twenty hours of ceaseless questioning for Hogan and his men. Klink studied the transcripts of the interrogations as he waited. Studied them for any weaknesses, any hint that they were less than they seemed. But there were no weaknesses. The questions were hard, unrelenting, as were the questioners. The answers were, after some initial bravado-like insolence on the part of Hogan and his men, a litany of name, rank and serial number. A very tiring litany of name, rank and serial number.

Klink nodded unseen; Fraulein Braun had taken the initial questions and answers and produced pages of transcripts. Pages simulating long, hard days of interrogation. Pages that would be believed.

Klink's own story had been worked out with Schiller. It wasn't as airtight as Hogan's, but it couldn't be. There were no witnesses to account for Klink's time with Hochstetter. At least none that they knew of. Schiller would give Klink an alibi for most of the time he'd been gone. But there were six hours unaccounted for. And unless Hochstetter had contacted anyone after that six-hour period, it left Klink as the last person alive to see or speak to Hochstetter.

Klink smiled grimly as he reviewed his story yet again. Hogan would be less than pleased when he heard that! But it cut down on the number of lies the others would have to tell. And cut down on the risk for Hogan and his men. Yes, Klink thought with some satisfaction, it was more fitting this way.

He stood and walked over to the window. Below the window in the inner courtyard, a contingent of real SS troops was exercising.

It would all come down to whether they believed his stories yet again. Or had he finally come up with one tale too many? A tale that at best would get him killed.

But now the questioning was over, and it was time to return to camp. Klink walked over to the bed and began dressing.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door; Schiller entered. And stopped. Klink was putting his uniform on for the first time since his arrival. Schiller's eyes skimmed over the splotchy bruises still on Klink's abdomen and chest as he closed the door.

"Hochstetter?" Schiller asked quietly.

Klink nodded, slipping the shirt on over the bruises.

"You will not be able to explain those away," Schiller said.

"I know."

"Does Hogan?"

Klink nodded. "We have talked about it." His eyes met Schiller's. "What about you and your men?"

A thin smile. "We will be conveniently leaving for the Russian front an hour after you leave. Or rather our names will be leaving." Humor glinted in his eyes for a moment. "And I will personally vouch for the veracity of Colonel Schiller and his men, though, of course, I was not here during the time you claim to be our guests."

"Elaborate, and simple," Klink said.

Schiller nodded. "But it is also too dangerous for us to continue much longer. Before we received the call from your sponsor, we were discussing the dissolution of the installation."

"Will you dissolve it?"

"We think so. Especially if many questions are asked regarding your stay. Especially since I believe I know who you are."

A flat, "You do?"

Schiller smiled briefly. "Our contact with a certain resistance group has disappeared."

Klink turned away and picked up his jacket. "I see."

Schiller was at his side. "If I may?"

He took the jacket from Klink and held it out. Klink slipped his arms into the jacket. Schiller straightened it and watched as Klink buttoned the jacket.

"They know about Hochstetter," Schiller said quietly. "They may be waiting for you when you return to Stalag 13."

"I know."

"Forgive me, but is this wise? You have done enough, suffered enough, for Germany. Why not leave?"

"It is not yet over," Klink murmured.

"It can be. If they choose not to believe you, if they strip that uniform off you, it will be over. And whatever Hochstetter did to you will be nothing compared to what they will do to you."

Klink stayed silent.

Schiller gazed at him for a long moment before walking over to the window. "Your sponsor has left."

"I know."

"You will not be able to contact us again."

"Even they would not believe the same lie twice."

"No." Schiller turned back to Klink. "You were one of the first to realize the truth and to fight them." He held out his hand. "I have long wanted to meet you, to tell you . . . " He grasped Klink's hand firmly. "I am honored that you trust us to help you. I will not betray that trust."

"Danke, Herr Standartenführer."

Schiller tightly held Klink's hand. "Auf Wiedersehen. And good luck . . . Stage."

"To both of us. Auf Wiedersehen."

Schiller nodded and stepped away from Klink. He strode to the door and opened it. "The Kommandant is ready," he told the guard waiting outside the room. "Take him down to the others." He turned back to Klink. "Kommandant." He bowed as his heels clicked together.

"Herr Standartenführer." Klink picked up his overcoat and followed the guard out.

It was nearly noon when they left the building. Schultz drove Hogan and Klink in the car. The others followed in a truck along with some of the SS men.

Klink stayed silent throughout most of the long drive back to Stalag 13. Hogan had given up trying to make small talk and napped as best he could.

Finally, they were nearly at Stalag 13.

An unusually tense Hogan turned to the silent man next to him. "There's still time to pull out," he said quietly.

The impassive man shook his head soberly. "We go on."

"Aren't you nervous, scared, something?!" Hogan exploded irritably.

The same impassive voice. "What would you have me do, Colonel Hogan?"

"I don't know!" Hogan almost yelled. "Look at me!" He held out his hand. "I'm shaking."

Klink glanced at him and looked away. "You should be. You have just undergone four days of intensive interrogation. No one will think it strange that you are tired or tense or scared. But," his eyes went to Hogan, "what has Kommandant Klink been doing for those days? Overseeing the interrogation, resting and becoming rather bored by the whole thing. That is what he has been doing." Klink's eyes went back to the passing countryside.

Hogan stared at his profile. Hogan suddenly realized how utterly lonely Klink had to be. He had been admiring the Stage's coolness and audacity, his courage under torture and in action. What must it be like to always live a lie, to always live a life not your own, with never a respite? And now Klink was forced to continue living it. As if the torture had not happened.

But it had happened. Klink had gotten precious little sleep over the last five days. His bruises were still visible; he must still ache where he had been beaten or kicked. The bandaged right wrist was still infected, the torn flesh healing slowly. Could he still feel the current that had ripped through him so mercilessly? Klink's screams still echoed in Hogan's dreams. What were they doing in Klink's?

The camp came into view.

Klink took a deep breath and turned to Hogan. "Well, Colonel Hogan, as Shakespeare said, 'The play's the thing'(2). May our play have a long run." He held out his hand.

Soberly, Hogan took it. "Amen to that."

Their hands parted.

As Hogan watched, the face of the man next to him changed ever so slightly.

The car stopped.

And Kommandant Wilhelm Klink stepped out of the car as Sergeant Schultz opened the door. Klink stormed up the stairs to his office, complaining loudly and bitterly as he did so.

Hogan stared after Klink for a long moment before sighing. "Well, here goes nothing."

Then he got out of the car.

* * *

1Dante Alighieri:_The Divine Comedy_

2W. Shakespeare: _Hamlet_


	6. Chapter 6

Act Two

Scene Two

– Six –

Hogan ambled around the camp aimlessly. It had been a week he would not soon forget. Gestapo, General Burkhalter, SS, everyone and anyone had descended on the camp not long after they returned to Stalag 13 in the late afternoon. Before their visitors, along with a contingent of real SS troops, arrived, Hogan had managed to talk to Captains Martin, Mitchell and Warren. Mainly to warn them that they would be receiving some nasty visitors very shortly. Mainly to reassure them that everything would be fine. The three captains looked skeptical at that, but were still reassured that the camp itself would be safe. Then Hogan briefed Baker about what had happened, and warned him that there were still questions they would all have to answer. As he briefed his radioman, the rest of his men installed bugs in the cooler. Hogan wanted Baker listening to the questioning in case something went wrong. But nothing had.

Hogan glanced at his men as they played volleyball in the compound. Hochstetter's death had made the Gestapo very unhappy. More, it made them very persistent. There had been hours upon hours of questions for each of them, extending far into the night, broken only for snatches of rest and food. But despite that, no one had made any mistakes. That in itself was remarkable. With the constant retelling of their stories, it was almost inevitable that someone would make a mistake. But no one did. They were all too aware of the consequences if they did. Hogan had never been prouder of his men, never been prouder that they were willing to risk their lives and more.

Or did they realize what they were risking?

Perhaps Klink was right. None of them had ever been beaten or tortured in their encounters with the Nazis. Yes, they could imagine it. Now, they had even seen it. But could anyone who had not experienced it know what it truly meant? Rarely were any of them even slightly hurt on any of their missions.

Unlike the man who was briskly crossing the compound. He knew what it was like to be hurt, beaten and tortured all too well. And he had been willing to risk it yet again.

Hogan had watched, and listened, as Wilhelm Klink put on the performance of his life. Klink had played it with the right mix of fear, bravado, cunning, stupidity, insolence and obsequiousness.

Hogan had been extremely worried when their inquisitors focused their attention on Kommandant Klink — the last man, as far as anyone knew, to see Hochstetter alive. Hogan and his men had been cleared of any involvement in Hochstetter's death, thanks to the alibi arranged by Schiller and his people. But Klink had not yet been cleared.

Hogan had listened with mingled relief and dismay to the exchange between Burkhalter and the Gestapo. Burkhalter, unwilling to watch the Gestapo zero in on his subordinate, was leaving. Leaving after exacting a promise from the Gestapo. More anxious about disrupting the workings of the camp and undermining Klink's authority than about Hochstetter's death, Burkhalter had ensured that whatever happened between Klink and the Gestapo would, if Klink was cleared, stay between them. That at least saved Klink from outright physical abuse. But there were other methods that the Gestapo could use. And they did.

Hogan knew that Klink had gotten very little rest during their questioning; Burkhalter had seen to that. And the Gestapo knew it as well. Hogan had found himself wincing as he heard, again, Klink's voice drone the explanation of the time he supposedly spent with Hochstetter. Every time Klink finished, the Gestapo major, Sturmbannführer Webber, would stay silent for a few minutes, his eyes on the stiffly-at-attention Klink. Then Webber would say, as he had a dozen times before, in a polite, bored voice, "Danke, Kommandant. But I am still unclear about what happened. So, if you don't mind, from the beginning . . . " And Klink would start again, his voice getting progressively weaker and hoarser.

As the interrogation continued, Hogan could almost physically feel Klink's exhaustion and pain — the agonized strain of his muscles, still weak and bruised from Hochstetter's ministrations, as Klink stood erect and stiff, his throat dry, parched, aching as he talked, denied water by his questioners, the humiliations in being forced to ask, to beg, his tormentors for water, rest, relief. No beatings, no electric current this time, but the torture was still very real. If the questioning had been difficult for Hogan and his men, it had been sheer agony for Klink.

As Klink's ordeal extended into another night, Hogan had begun berating himself for even daring to suggest that Klink return to the camp. More, he had to fight himself, to resist the urge to take his men and forcibly end Klink's ordeal. A move that, given the number of SS and Gestapo men in the camp, would surely have gotten them killed.

But, somehow, Klink kept going. He had to. If he collapsed, it would have been all over. He would have disappeared into a prison in Berlin, coming out only when he broke or died.

Then it was over. Over after thirty-six hours of hell for Klink. As Hogan listened with a painful relief, the calm Sturmbannführer Webber apologized to Klink for his treatment, and cleared Klink of all charges.

Dieter Müller had shown up the day after the Gestapo left. Hogan had no idea what they had discussed but Müller had left apparently satisfied with Klink's physical condition. But not happy that Klink was endangering his life again. From the few words Hogan managed to have with him, Hogan gathered that Klink had ordered his brother-in-law away from the camp; Hogan was certain that Müller would comply.

Now everyone had gone and the camp was at peace. But what next? Hogan hadn't been able to talk to Klink alone since they returned. In fact, Klink had pointedly ignored Hogan ever since the Gestapo left. Schultz pretty much ignored them as well, though occasionally they caught a twinkle in his eyes.

Why didn't Klink talk to him? Hogan didn't know. But he intended to find out.

"Kommandant!" Hogan called. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The blue eyes, still filled with fatigue, glanced at Hogan dismissively. "Not now, Colonel Hogan. I have too much work to do. If you have any complaints, take them up with Captain Gruber."

And Klink walked away.

"But I . . . " Hogan said to Klink's retreating back. He gave up. What was the point?

His men walked over to him.

"Same old Klink?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, same old Klink."

"But he's not," Carter said. "Not really. I mean, I can't think of him like that anymore. Not after seeing what they did to him."

"Neither can I, Carter. Neither can I," Hogan said softly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," agreed Newkirk. He looked at Hogan a bit guiltily. "If you want the truth, Colonel, I didn't really believe your story until we walked into that cell. It all seemed too fantastic."

"Oui, incroyable," murmured LeBeau. "But Monsieur Klink is an incroyable man."

"And he's got guts," said Kinch. "He was amazing."

Baker smiled faintly. "He had me believing where you guys were." Baker had been relieved when Hogan and the others arrived back in camp. Relieved and scared about what they were risking. And he was infinitely glad that he had not been subjected to the interrogation the others had to endure. It had been bad enough listening to it.

"The important thing is he had the Gestapo believing it," Hogan said.

"But why is he being so unfriendly?" Carter asked.

"He did warn us," Hogan reminded him. "We play by his rules."

_At least for now_, Hogan amended silently. _But_ _we will have that talk, Kommandant. Whether you like it or not. _

Then a sinking feeling. The question was whether Hogan would like the results.

...

Hogan was in his room when Kinch knocked on the door and entered. "Colonel, some big shot from Berlin just arrived. An SS colonel."

Hogan was disturbed. It had been a week since their inquisitors had left. He'd thought it was all over. "Set up the coffeepot."

The rest of his men trailed in. Carter, the last one in, shut the door. They sat down to listen.

Klink was surprised as his visitor entered. "Standartenführer Weiss! What an honor," Klink said as he stood.

The door closed behind the pretty Hilda.

Then Hogan and his men were astonished to hear . . .

"Wilhelm! Thank God! I didn't quite believe it until now," the man breathed softly.

But Klink wasn't too pleased. "You should not be here, Karl. You should have left a long time ago."

"He must be one of the Stage's men," Newkirk said.

"I know, Wilhelm. After the message was delivered, I made myself scarce as the Americans say. But when I had finally decided to go, I heard that you were back," Weiss explained. "Please, Wilhelm, don't be angry. But I couldn't stay away."

A faint smile. "Well, now that you are here, sit down. Do you know how things went?"

"Better than any of us had anticipated, Wilhelm." Weiss said with enthusiasm. "Within six hours of the message, fully fifty percent of the organization had gone. Within another six, ninety percent had left. The rest, like me, were on the move, ready to disappear in an instant."

"I'm glad," Klink said quietly. "Now, Karl, what are you doing here?"

"Do I need a reason to see an old friend?" Weiss said jovially.

Klink stayed quiet, his eyes on Weiss.

A heavy sigh. "All right, Wilhelm. I do not know why I ever try to fool you."

A dry, "Neither do I."

Weiss moved his chair closer to Klink. "Wilhelm, for days, our people have been coming back into Germany; most had arranged plausible excuses for their absences before they left. Our best guess is that nearly fifty percent of the organization is back, most of them intact units." Klink frowned as Weiss continued. "They are not being foolhardy, Wilhelm. We all know that if the Stage were dead or broken, the Nazis would have broadcast the news all over Germany. Despite the way the war is going, it would still be a brilliant propaganda victory. And we all know that not even the Stage could withstand two weeks of the torture they would inflict. He would either break or die. I knew fairly quickly when you returned to Stalag 13. Then I waited to see what would happen. It should be safe now."

Klink shook his head. "There is no way of knowing that, Karl. I am assuming a great deal by being here."

"But you are here, Wilhelm," Weiss said quietly.

Klink stayed silent.

"Wilhelm," Weiss continued, "we, those of us who are back, we want to start up again."

Klink refused to understand. "Then go, start up again."

Weiss shook his head. "We want the Stage back, Wilhelm. We want you in charge."

Klink's chair scrapped back as he stood. "No," he said quietly and went over to the window, gazing out at the camp.

"Wilhelm, we need you," Weiss pleaded. "You founded this group. You built it. Everyone's loyalty has always been to the Stage."

"I never wanted that!" Klink said.

"No. But that is what happened," Weiss said. "It is far easier to be loyal to a man than an idea. Especially if that man is the Stage."

Klink stayed silent.

"We can do it, Wilhelm. This war is still not over."

"No, it's not," Klink agreed. "Neither is the danger. As I said, Karl, I am assuming a great deal by being here. Someone else may know who I was. They could be biding their time."

"But why?" Weiss persisted. "What would be the point? Why not just arrest you?"

"They could be waiting for precisely what you're asking. Let the organization begin again, then move in."

"It seems like a lot of trouble. They have better things to do now. Wilhelm, I am surrounded by them in Berlin. They are scared. They can see the end; only they do not want to believe it. We can push them over the edge. Save lives, save what is left of Germany."

"Then do so. But without the Stage."

"We need the Stage, Wilhelm. He is still a rallying cry for most of us."

The man at the window stayed quiet.

"Wilhelm," Weiss's voice was placating, "I know you're tired. You've been doing this far longer than any of us ever dreamed it would be necessary."

Klink stared straight ahead.

"And I know what they did to you. Not for the first time. Nor the second."

"Huh?" from Carter.

"My God," breathed Baker. "He's been tortured before."

"I know about the impossible missions," Weiss continued, "the sleepless nights, the times you have been wounded and had to go on as if nothing had happened, the strain of running an organization this size. And I know all about the ridiculous Kommandant Klink."

"And you are still asking me to start again," Klink's voice was damning.

"Yes, I am. Because we need you."

"You need the Stage," Klink said softly.

"The Stage, you." Weiss sounded puzzled. "What is the difference?"

There was a long silence in the office.

Finally, "All right, Karl." Klink turned back to the pleased Colonel. But Klink's voice was hard. "But under my terms; I will be in complete charge."

"Agreed," Weiss said promptly and smiled.

A very grim smile. "You may regret it, Karl. This time, I will not divide the power. Do you still want the Stage back?"

Weiss swallowed hard at the look in Klink's eyes but said, "Yes."

"All right, Karl." Klink went back to his desk and sat down. They heard his chair move closer to the desk. "First, we will use the 'Inferno' code."

"But almost no one knows it," protested Weiss.

"Then they will have to learn it." Klink's voice was inexorable. "They have two weeks. Those who do not have it perfect will have to leave.

"Second, each of the Six must contact me here, in person, within five days. None of you is guaranteed acceptance. And the contacts must be perfectly logical and acceptable to me, or you will not be acknowledged. I will also give each of you a list of people in your sections who will not be allowed back under any circumstances.

"Third," Klink moved on relentlessly, ignoring the dismay on Weiss's face. "Every one who is in the path of the Russian armies is to leave immediately."

Weiss finally managed to find his voice. "But the Russians are our Allies!"

Klink merely looked at him.

Weiss straightened under the immovable gaze. "All right, Wilhelm," Weiss said in a subdued voice. "Every time I try to second guess you, my efforts end in failure."

"Fourth, each of you is to submit a general plan of operation for your sections. I will have the final approval for each plan.

"And finally, except for next week, no one, I repeat, no one is to come near me again without prior approval. And I warn you, it will most likely not be granted." His eyes met Weiss's. "Those are my conditions, Karl. You are each free to accept them or not. The choice is yours."

"I . . . I accept, Wilhelm, for my section," Weiss said quietly. "I understand the reasons for the conditions."

"I really hope you do, Karl," Klink said evenly.

Weiss stood. "I will pass on the conditions, Wilhelm." A faint smile. "In the 'Inferno' code. I will be back later with the information you ordered."

Klink unbent a little. "Thank you."

Weiss walked to the door and hesitated. "Wilhelm, I am glad to see you. I would be glad even if you threw me out."

Klink stood and walked over to him. "I know, old friend." He held out his hand.

Weiss took it warmly and embraced Klink. Then he straightened and opened the door.

Klink said in his normal voice, "Thank you for coming, Standartenführer Weiss. Any time I can be of assistance to the SS, do not hesitate to call on me."

"Thank you, Colonel," Weiss said. "I may call on you again later this week."

"Of course. It will be a pleasure to see you."

The door closed behind Weiss.

They heard Klink walk back to his desk and sit down. Then as Kinch reached for the wire to turn off the listening device . . .

"Dear God, I hate this war."


	7. Chapter 7

Act Two

Scene Two

– Seven –

It was late afternoon when Hogan came out of the barracks. Though it was still cold outside, the waning sun had finally decided to break through the clouds.

"How long has he been like that?" Hogan asked a lounging Newkirk.

"Ever since I've been out," Newkirk answered.

Hogan turned up the collar of his jacket to keep out the cold. "I think I'll go over and see how he's doing."

"He's been less than friendly since we got back," LeBeau reminded him.

"Yeah, I know."

Hogan walked across the compound to the far end of the camp. Kommandant Klink was pacing alone near the wire. Hogan approached cautiously. Klink saw him and stopped, waiting for Hogan to get close. There was no one else near them.

Klink glanced at Hogan as the American reached him and then looked away, his eyes on the woods outside the camp. "I suppose you heard," Klink said quietly.

"Every word." Hogan forced a cheer he didn't feel into his voice. "I'm glad I don't work for you."

Klink didn't respond.

Hogan glanced at the stern profile. "Why did you agree to do it?"

A shrug. "The same reason I agreed to come back here. I want to finish what I started. Or perhaps it satisfies my ego to be needed."

"Whose ego?" Hogan challenged. "The Stage's? Kommandant Klink's? Or Wilhelm Klink's?"

Klink's voice was disinterested. "What is the difference?"

"Plenty!" Hogan said. "All this time, it's been the Stage or Kommandant Klink. What about Wilhelm Klink? What does he want?"

A pause, then a sad, tired voice, "I don't know if he exists anymore." Klink started to walk away.

"Wait a minute!" Hogan adroitly stepped in front of Klink, blocking him. "He exists all right. And he's more important than either the Stage or Kommandant Klink."

"To whom, Colonel Hogan?" Klink said listlessly.

"You don't mean that."

Klink stayed quiet.

"He's very important to a sister who adores him, a brother-in-law who cares for him. And he was very important to a little boy who knew nothing about Stages or Kommandants." Hogan ignored the flash of anger in Klink's eyes. "And whether you believe it or not, he's important to me."

"You went after the Stage, Colonel Hogan," Klink said tonelessly. "That's who you expected to find, didn't you?"

"Yes and no," Hogan said. "Yeah, I went partly to satisfy my own ego. To pay back the man who had saved my neck more than once. To show him that I was capable of doing everything he could do.

"Yeah, part of me wanted to save a myth," Hogan said quietly. "But that's not who I found. And in the long run, that's not who I went after." His eyes met Klink's. "I didn't find a myth, Kommandant. I found a man. A man with more courage than any myth could ever have. A man who had been chained, beaten, badly tortured for days, still defying his captors."

"The stuff myths are made of," Klink said ironically.

Hogan shook his head. "No. Myths are never unshaven, filthy, bleeding. They don't choke on a swallow of water; they don't tremble when confronted by their worst nightmares."

Klink started to turn away.

Hogan stopped him with a hand on his arm and continued, ignoring the haunted expression in Klink's eyes.

"And myths don't scream in pain. That wasn't the Stage being tortured in that cell. It was a man named Wilhelm Klink.

"The same Wilhelm Klink who was beaten by a man he had been trying to help. The same Wilhelm Klink who I refused to treat like a human being, who I used like an object, who, when he really needed me, I turned my back on, and worse, wished him dead. The same Wilhelm Klink who even though he was practically buried alive still calmed me down when I was panicking and helped me despite the way I treated him.

"The same Wilhelm Klink who reached out to me when he was hurt and wouldn't let me hide behind my indifference. The same Wilhelm Klink I made that promise to when I finally admitted just how much he meant to me.

"I don't care about the Stage; he's a myth. It wasn't the Stage who saw the truth all those years ago. It was a man. A man who saw what was happening to his country. Who reached inside himself and instead of running away or hiding, forced himself to become something he wasn't. An intelligent, resourceful man who cut himself off from everything he loved and cared about, and accepted the ridicule and hatred of others to fight for a cause he believed in. And who is still willing to fight, regardless of the consequences to himself.

"A man who's taught me more about courage than anyone else. A man who's taught me not to judge people by what seems to be the truth and to never, ever, treat people as less than human beings.

"He's the man I care about, not the Stage and not Kommandant Klink. He's the man I went after, the man I made that promise to, and the man I was so scared I'd never see again.

"And whether you admit it or not, he's the man standing before me."

Klink stayed silent; Hogan's hand dropped from his arm.

"For what it's worth," Hogan said after a pause. "I think it's time the world discovered the real Wilhelm Klink. I think it's time he did as well."

"I'm not sure he knows how, Colonel Hogan." Klink rubbed his aching eyes. "He's been buried for so long. He can't compete with either the Stage or Kommandant Klink."

"He's far more like the Stage than he's willing to admit," Hogan said quietly. "As for Kommandant Klink, the war won't last forever. The Allies are already knocking on Germany's door. I think it's time to bury Kommandant Klink. A nice, honorable burial. He did his duty well."

A reluctant smile. "Yes, he did. In his own inimitable way."

Hogan smiled.

Klink turned away from him, his eyes on the woods outside the camp.

"Well?"

"Colonel Hogan, Wilhelm Klink is a very frightened man," Klink said softly.

"I think he's been frightened for eleven years," Hogan said in the same tone. "That's never stopped him from doing what he had to do."

A deep breath. "I . . . I will think about it."

"Yes, sir."

A smart salute and Hogan started walking away.

"Robert."

Surprised, Hogan stopped and turned back to Klink.

"Thank you."

Their eyes met.

There was mutual respect and more in their glances, and they both knew that things would never again be the same between them. What had begun in a dark cave was finally complete.

"You're welcome . . . Wilhelm."

...

Hogan rejoined his waiting men.

"Well?" Carter asked.

A slow smile. "I think there are going to be some changes around here."

"Huh?" from LeBeau.

A quick grin. "Never mind; you'll see. We'll all see." And Hogan went back inside the barracks.


End file.
